The Birdcage

RC deWinter

Fairfield, United States

Artist's Description

© 2011 RC deWinter ~ All Rights Reserved

Stray Thoughts on a Sunday

who are these wives that live with men
for whom they won’t open their legs?
are they angry women who,
disappointed too many times
in the face of promises never kept,
just shut down?
or are they merely bored with what’s become
a routine biological spasm
their men just have to have?
do these women yearn for romance never owned,
or romance lost amid the litter of
kids
and
dogs
and
atticsfullofwinterclothes
and
every year the tax man?

some, i suppose,
are truly turned off sex:
perhaps they never liked it;
perhaps they yearn for women;
maybe they married
the nice guy,
who wouldn’t push
for passion,
cause what they really wanted was
the ring,
the house,
the kids.
there might even yet be
bartered brides,
alliances of family,
wealth to wealth,
neither woman nor man invested
in much beyond
thethingtodo
with
someonefromthepropersphere.
maybe some are
battered, beaten, bullied
in the flesh or in the spirit.
maybe some are just worn out,
married young,
the flame extinguished.
i don’t know.

what i do know
is
their men want me.
well, maybe not really
me:
they crave the free spirit
they remember from the past;
perhaps they crave a woman
who was never real,
one they dress up in designer memories
and are convinced was theirs.
maybe the girl they married
has gone away,
buried herself in flesh,
but not for touching.
they may or may not know
what they have or haven’t done
to spawn this stranger.

these husbands worship sex,
they yearn for passion,
hunger for abandon and acceptance.
no doubt there are the rovers never happy
with one woman,
all her efforts fruitless
in their quest for satisfaction.
but others swear they’ve labored
to maintain a living marriage,
only to be cast aside
in favor of mysterious woman things
they can’t be part of.

and then i wonder why they stay,
these miserable prisoners of a life
that disappoints them.
some stay, no doubt, for the kids,
and some for the money,
the prospect of giving away
the things they’ve earned
or inherited
or stolen
to some suddenly greedy
domestic terrorist
more powerful than their lust for
life empowered.

oh yeah – there’s comfort,
sheltering ruts more easily accepted
than the wilderness around them;
there’s disillusion,
lumping all one gender into that ugly mold
that’s so familiar.
there’s fear in cutting loose –
the family,
the church,
the neighbors,
even sometimes the job
entangled with one’s partner.

i was one of those wives -
i had one of those husbands.
i escaped.
and now, like seductive pheromones
emanating from some open flower,
i have a scent, a wildness
about me
that attracts these drones
and keeps them buzzing round me.
i don’t want your husbands, women.
who i want must be courageous,
up to facing the truth of his life
and making changes independent of another.
yes, some may sip a bit of nectar
but i promise i won’t keep them.
i am no man’s refuge –
no man’s savior.
i am the wife who left to wander
highways of my own.

© 2011 RC deWinter

Digital oils taken from an original photograph shot September 17, 2011 in Rocky Hill, Connecticut.


Tech specs: Photoshop, Filter Forge, Filters Unlimited, Xero, VP5

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