Hours at your computer
behind a closed door,
and I
lived like a widow,
mothered a fatherless child,
respected your choice
to close up tighter and tighter
until you seemed to cease
being there at all.
Your home office was a ship
that broke free
from the rest of the house
and sailed off
into scholarly oblivion.
Back on land,
I surely felt enough
for both of us.
My thighs, buttocks, arms
expanded so I could be two
parents and I barely carried on—
bravely, secretly.
Nobody but me
knew you were gone,
nobody but me
knew just the moment
I stopped watching
for your return.
Nobody
Melinda Coppola has been writing in some form for over five decades. Her work has appeared in Harpur Palate, Kaleidoscope, The Autism Perspective, OneArt, Third Wednesday, and many other fine publications. Melinda also makes art, teaches Yoga, and parents a young woman on the autism spectrum. She nourishes her creative spirit with early morning walks, hot cinnamon tea, and intermittent affection from her four cats.