My Husband by Sara Tusek

My husband in the pool.

                                My husband in his garden,

pulling the weeds, 25^th 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