My Husbands Eyes

MY HUSBAND'S EYES

I read a poem, just today,
where after sex she, sated, lay
seductively across the bed
in naked disarray.

I cried.  For I'd abhorred the light,
undressing in the dark each night,
a gown to hide all but my head,
my body out of sight.

Afraid that if he looked my way
desire would die, lust lose its sway.
Rejection was my greatest dread
and so, I'd hide away.

He was my first, at seventeen
too insecure to think I'd glean
a look or touch that yearned, instead,
myself I did demean.

I'd read about the love I sought,
the kind good girls are never taught.
But all those thoughts remained unsaid.
Those dreams were all for naught.

In movies, men caress a cheek,
their need so great they could not speak.
But not from him, so what I read
was that my charms were weak.

But such is love. I gave my heart
and passion never played a part.
The twenty-nine that we were wed
his fires I could not start.

Lovemaking, of a civil kind.
The wanton woman in my mind
learned he could not be teased or led.
I left her lust behind.

Repulsive, what else could I think
when often from my touch he'd shrink.
And self-disgust is what it bred.
For sex, he had to drink.

Except for bed, our bond was strong.
But there he sang his failure song,
"Its not your weight." So often said
it must be what was wrong.

And was I fat? Not in my prime,
the photos show I was sublime.
But I saw through his eyes. Misled,
from dark to bed I'd climb.

And then I ate. I played my part.
He snarled in hopes that I'd depart.
I loved him, would not leave. Instead,
I fed my hungry heart.

Year twenty-nine, momentous day
I left a note and walked away.
He called me, sobbing, then he said,
"I think I might be Gay."

Too late for me, his pretense shed.
The damage done was deep, widespread.
My soul I'd managed to embed
with fear, and shame and dread.

I'm 60 now, well past the day
when in my naked glory lay
the power, of which I just now read.
Some demons time can't slay.

That lusty girl, repressed, denied,
curled tight in shame and mummified
won't wake again, that book's been read.
And so, for her, I cried.