To the East: A Poem. Husband
We sit on a flight to Amman,
Amanoman and me.
How is it, Mr. Mystery, you manage to keep faith?
I marvel at the sight of you,
You who've stuck by me for more than a half-life, a quarter century plus. I still can't guess what keeps you, feet glued to the ground.
I fly around with fearful images, too dreadful to share, while you never blink,
Even as I think, dear god keep us from crashes and bombs.
I must rely on your strength because
My weakness is for drama.
Keep me, god, from going to the dark place.
My faith is only a word.
My fear is something else.
You, husband, mystery beyond words,
must be my reason.