29 years, and  the arguments are old.
What’s the point? he says and clams up,
Arms crossed, looking at the floor.
I am feeling abandoned and
flash anger, deep tears, anguish.
I give him the silent treatment all afternoon 
but he seems not to notice. 
 
I know better.
My complaints are hollow,
the responses mechanical.
myself is a fiction 
that does not bear scrutiny.
This marital conflict engulfing us 
dissolves right now.
 
Jonah in the whale just had to summon
enough love to walk through the door of his heart.

Inside the empty cabinet, the metal measuring tape
bends at 27-1/2 inches
and I am joyful for 27-1/2 X 10-1/2.
Wrote it down twice already and still cut the
contact paper wrong.
Somehow not bothered much when the plastic sticks to itself,
I pull it apart,
position each ill-fitting piece five, six, seven times.
smooth out the lumps and wrinkles in a personless state that can only be called
love for no reason. So
Shiva dreams.