Space

When first we slept together -
meaning rest, not action -
our bodies intertwined so naturally.
As close as they could physically be
yet still remain two.

There was little talking,
much affection,
and the space between us,
insignificant.

But the more we talked, arguments sprang up
like weeds in a newly cultivated field
that never had the chance to be planted.
And with every argument,
your body moved miniscule measures away from mine.

Unnoticeable at first
yet several months’ movements made me wonder
where the warm, sweet honey had gone
that bound our bodies unconsciously together.

In its place a cold space of air grew
eventually hardening into a physical obstruction –
solid resentment –
that now lies between us:
rolling where we do,
chilling our bones,
blocking our embraces
even if the desire is there.
Even if we want to show affection
or simply cuddle
that cold, prohibitive space remains.

I lay in bed next to you,
but it may as well be only me in this bed,
as there often is these days.

You are as far away as the stars
I see through our window
and wonder who might live there -
what kind of beings they are -
and if they have feelings
or desires and wants.

Right now I only desire
to incinerate this space between us:
burn it in my anger of frustration and confusion.
But by now I know it’s impervious to such weapons of destruction.
In fact, I believe it must be some Substance that only grows stronger
with extremes of heat or cold.

And I am at a loss
for how I can eliminate
this unwelcome space.

But maybe you want it -
maybe you keep it there,
grooming it
while I am unaware.
I don’t know why you’d do such a thing
but so much of what you do is a mystery to me.

When first we met I thought
the mystery was intriguing, a challenge.
Now I wonder if it’s a mystery at all,
or if there’s really anything there
to make sense of.

You say, “I don’t know,”
and that you aren’t thinking anything
so often it’s been hard for me
to believe you aren’t concealing
something in the silence,
since these states of indifference and thoughtlessness are so alien to me.

But now I begin to see
that perhaps you are telling the truth
and I simply wasn’t listening.
I press and press you to answer
something you cannot,
and you become frustrated,
withdrawing all the more
to a space I know nothing about.

And from this space the question arises:
can I live with and keep loving
someone content not to think?
Satisfied in not knowing,
in mindless action,
desire-less forward motion?

I don’t know.


Donia Lilly
31 January 2006