My Husband by Sara Tusek

Our daughter and my husband
My husband in the pool.
                                My husband in his garden,
pulling the weeds, 25th of February, the way
                                my husband’s hair flies like bird feathers
under the sweatband
of his cap,
                                the squinting motion of his pale blue Slavic eyes
set bestride his nose,
                                all of this like an  Eastern Europe video:
Rick Steves in his buttondown his graying hair his obsession with local food.
My husband
at his Wednesday seminar.
My husband vacuuming the carpets
after lunch while I teach.
My husband beside the Silver Patriot the bare knees and the shorts,
                                the objectification of my husband
by the Carmax people
and customers.
                                My husband at Home Depot asking
where the soil is,
                                the pots and hoes,
my God, it’s earthy
my husband watching his PBS news,
my husband cooking fried eggs and potatoes,
my husband just
being Czech.
                My husband with a beer, my husband
with his shoes off,
his slippers on, my husband’s white
beard hairs in the glow of a standup lamp.
My husband showered, my husband dried, the way my husband
slaps the aftershave, the drops
on the sink,
my husband with his fingers
on my neck,
to the tensed muscles I carried
for years,
my husband chiding me
for not relaxing
from the tension that pained me.
My husband brandishing aloft

his fingers from my neck, and listening.

--after "My Husband" by Rebecca Hazelton


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