Eight days of love


A poem by Uma Ruser.

painting by Uma Ruser

Sitting at my desk
resting my chin in my hand
closed to a fist
the elbow feeling the weight
of my thoughts –
it’s Monday and I love him.

Going out for lunch
meeting him in the Indian restaurant
next to my office
The waiters knowing
our favourite dishes –
it’s Tuesday and I love him.

Coming late to the office
staring out of the window
with stinging eyes from crying
The high insurance complexes
building a wall between me and the sky –
it’s Wednesday and he is on evening duty in the Park.

Facing the struggle with my staff at work
writing bad reports about their performance
which will not make them change
The movie “Out of Africa”
got under his skin
That’s why I love him on Thursday.

Being in the office today
trying to get everything done in no time
to get ready for the weekend
The evening is ours from six p.m. to midnight
we make love –
It’s Friday – he has to go back to his wife.

It is Saturday morning
the telephone is waking me up
he wants to see me in the Park
We will have oatmeal together at noon
it is three p.m.
and he has things to do – on his own.

It is a rainy Sunday morning
the telephone is waking me up
he wants to come over to touch me
There is no time for oatmeal
because – he has to leave at noon
to see his mother – and to go home.

Waking up in a hotel bed
facing the beauty of the ocean –
I escaped from the city
to recuperate from my feelings
It is a holiday – and I still love him.

Uma RuserPoem and painting by Uma Ruser
from the book ‘I called him Wolf: Reflections on an affair with a married man’ – www.uma-kunst.de

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