Marriage is a Painful Matter
read by max gutmann
(Penelope's suitors) would find death was quick and marriage a painful matter.
--The Odyssey, trans. Richmond Lattimore
Great Homer! Bard who'll live forever!
Forgive, I beg, a skeptic's view,
Not of Odysseus, the clever,
But of the suitors whom he slew.
They learnt the pain of marriage? Poo!
Their talk of it was foolish chatter,
Though I admit it's very true
That marriage is a painful matter.
It isn't from the sword, however,
We learn this lesson, but the stew
Of feelings mucking the endeavor,
The ones we wrestle with, renew,
Indulge, keep hidden, misconstrue...
It's egos, not just bones that shatter.
Take Menalaus: Now, he knew
That marriage is a painful matter.
It's not I crave that someone sever
My head, but truly, when we woo
We've no idea whatsoever
Of what we're doing, not a clue.
Mere suitors, husbands; twixt the two
There's no comparison: the latter
Have far the greater right to rue
That marriage is a painful matter.
Envoi
Prince, don't misunderstand me. You
Know well how varied is life's platter.
I dearly love my wife. I do.
But marriage is a painful matter.
Training Wheels
read by charles musser
for Harriet
Some sounds ring louder once they've gone away.
The one that keeps recurring to her now
is the rasp of training wheels, how
they screeched—"Slow down!"—
ill-natured, bent
on drowning Dad's encouragement.
The only reason they can haunt today
is that the sudden silence left behind
after her father took them off the bike
resounded much more loudly, like
silent thunder.
Recalling those
first sundered moments this day, shows
both days as solemn partners, intertwined
irrevocable steps. How eager she
had been to give herself that scary ride
on her own power, unallied
with the wobbly support
she'd always had.
No more: tensed breath, a push from Dad,
and then that first wild, silent sailing, free;
the joy, the terror of not needing him.
© George Rizos
Sonnet For Her Husband
read by jonathan lu
Her husband's solid presence has to bear
the weight of shopping lists and auto rust
and gunfire on the news. Because he's there,
he's coated with a film of daily dust,
while my spruce form, if conjured up, can dwell
in moments: in the concert green remark
that made her laugh so hard, my lousy cooking
(that burnt lasagna), skating in the park,
that love-bite when her roommate wasn't looking.
Oh, substance has its perquisites—I well
remember them. But daily living grinds
their sharpest colors down. Our love's more suited
to growing steadily in distant minds
less real, less thought-about, and less diluted.
"Sonnet for Her Husband" was first published in The Dark Horse, "Training Wheels" in Green Hills Literary Lantern, and "Marriage is a Painful Matter" in Light Quarterly. Max Gutmann has also contributed to Measure, Cricket, and other magazines.
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