Wife of a Soldier

June 18, 2008
By Eliza Rooney, Louisburg, KS

Every time the phone rings
My blood runs cold
I cautiously answer it
And hoarsely whisper “Hello?”
Only to find out it is but another salesman
I live my life in total consternation
Dreading every minute,
Every call,
Every echoing knock on the solid wooden door
I fear of someone telling me the news
Of my faraway lover, in which I still await
I am not of aged wine,
But of a worn cloth; senescent and hoary
I am youthful, but you could not tell,
Because wrinkles line my sodden face
And my hair is thin and speckled with gray,
My eyes are circled with the dark of night
My hands are worn from the wringing
And my eyes are bloodshot from bitter tears
Why did you have to go?
I am so lonely
I hear your cries in the wind
And see your face in the fire
My heart, pounds louder than the ocean waves
When I receive a letter
I savor diminutive quantities of food,
Because if makes me morbid
If I consume too much
I miss you so much my whole body quivers in pain
I can’t wait till you come home once again,
But I am what I am and I shall survive,
Because my job is just as difficult as yours
I am the wife of a soldier and I will live on

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