Anxiety

and knowing how i’d shake sometimes,
he asked if i could help explain his wife’s anxiety,
saying every time he tried to be her sounding board,
he — in his lack of understanding —
became more an object of envy
while simultaneously reflecting her own disdain for
the stranger she found herself exchanged for in his chest like a mirror where —
for some reason —
the love behind it beat at regular intervals and normal patterns,
and only skipped when, and i quote, «she'd beat electric fists into me,
like defibrillating a healthy heart while she was under arrest.»
and she begged him to understand but — and i quote — «i can’t»
and knowing how she’d shake sometimes,
and try to communicate through stutters when the cogs in her mind jammed
and caught the wheel of another thought vying for her attention,
i — oh almighty i —
became more a silver lining
combined with a witch available to burn depending upon the outcome,
like maybe my tongue could breed magic that douses the fires,
and i quote, «staked between us.
they are high.»
(and i surmised, «and getting higher.»)
maybe i’ll light the match myself.
i thought of my own wife and wondered if either of them knew
what they’d gotten themselves into
when they got into it
with us.