I will be separated
from my husband for a month —
a lifetime o’clock
as time away from him passes —
all 28 days of February.
We will not be together on Presidents’ Day
or Valentine’s
or four separate Saturdays.
He will cook dinner for himself
I will get takeout —
he will eat brown rice,
me some fish thing.
I will get dressed each day in flimsy
he will bundle up in woolies.
I will put sandals on
he will wear boots and thick socks
and have red chapped cheeks.
I will flaunt a tan.
Sometimes we will miss each other too much.
