Virtual Wife

If pixels on a screen were pen on paper,
if words sent through the ether
were mailed in a letter,
I’d be a paper wife.

I am distant, convenient and much too readily available.
I make few demands, and those I put forth,
while often promised fulfillment,
are always and inevitably ignored.

I don’t want to be the spinster Belle of Amherst,
writing, always writing to her Master.
I’m sick of being a crutch left in the corner
‘til another ankle’s twisted.

But I remain – not even fashioned, as was Blodeuwedd,
from the fragile beauty of flowers – only paper.
No, there is no more pen to paper.
I am pixels.

Disembodied, soundless, remote,
I am the phantom on the periphery
of the plateau of reality.
I am Everyman’s dream – the virtual wife.

And it’s got to stop.
The psychiatrist is on vacation.
The confessional is closed.
The virtual wife is dead, replaced by flesh and blood.

© 2012 RC deWinter ~ All Rights Reserved

Hear me read this poem.

Virtual Wife

RC deWinter

Fairfield, United States

  • Artist
    Notes
  • Artwork Comments 2

Artist's Description

On being a virtual emotional resource.

Artwork Comments

  • Marc Grossberg
  • RC deWinter
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