When we married he promised his support.
But how could he know it would be so one-sided.
I may be there to cook a simple lunch,
to make the bed or do the laundry,
But who could have guessed that normalcy
would die when I turned thirty?
My attention turned inward by my own pain,
I fail to notice his
quiet determination to not trouble me
with his doubts or worries or regrets.
I push to make it through each day,
living not just surviving,
and I hope my chores add up to a fair effort,
Because I’m no good at balancing the books.
Yet, I’m the one who does it.
so I can hide from him how broke we are.
Money I mean,
Because somehow, our relationship isn’t.