My mind is in crisis over the card I received this morning
The lies, the silence, his friends cover for him
I remember hearing whispered conversation
Realising now that the person who sent the card
Wants me to know my husband is having an affair
Is it the woman herself who wants me to know?
I resign myself to the fact
Truth melts away under scrutiny
The late nights make sense now
The lame excuses, the strange scent
Lingering on his clothes
His excuse for that, laughable
It’s like a thunderstorm hitting me all at once
Am I grateful for the unknown author?
Ripping the scales from my eyes
After twenty-three years of marriage
Now I feel only disgust at myself, my ignorance
Lit by a postcard, delivered by an unknown hand
Why did they want me to know?
Not a friend, they would have come up and told me straight
One thought came to mind, was it
Someone he’s past over for this current lover
How long, how many?
I don’t think I’ll stick around to find out…
©anitadawes
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