Divorce Party

              The gifts are a towel that says Not Hers,
              mismatched candles, stemware, prayers and plates
              and another linen, which is Not His.

              Celebrations are not exactly cures,
              or affirmations of various fates,
              he thinks, and also that his life is not hers.

              After a toast they manage a kiss
              to let the guests know there is no hate.
              They break out the towel, which is Not His

              to soak up some spilled wine (it could have been worse).
              Not wanting him to leave, she asks him to wait,
              briefly forgetting he is not hers.

              But he's ready to go home -- such as it is.
              He's tired, out of goodwill, plus it's late.
              He leaves her with the gifts that are not his.

              Did the guests consider what kind of thirst
              might be slaked from glasses without a mate?
              In his hand a goblet, which is not hers;
              in her hand a snifter, which isn't his.


              Marc J. Sheehan

     
              *         *          *
        

              about the poem:

              "When my ex-wife and I got divorced, we really did have a Divorce 
              Party at which we really did receive gifts such as mismatched glasses
              and towels that said 'Not Hers' and 'Not His.'  When my ex- moved 
              several states away I began writing about the experience of divorce.  
              The modified villanelle form I use in 'Divorce Party' seemed appropriate 
              for writing about a situation where two people are struggling to break 
              out of a particular convention (in this case marriage) and yet are still 
              somehow joined, however tenuously."



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