To A Nunnery

 “...Love is not love / Which alters when it alteration finds /

Or bends with the remover to remove: / O no! It is an ever-

fixed mark / That looks on tempests and is never shaken; /

It is the star to every wandering bark...”

~William Shakespeare, Sonnet #116

“Get thee to a nunnery. Why, wouldst though be a breeder

of sinners?...I am proud, revengeful, ambitious, with more

offences at my beck...”

~William Shakespeare, Hamlet

“Je te déteste,” she said.

I rubbed at the wrinkles

marring my strained and

weary countenance and said,

“Headache today. No French, 'kay?”

She roared with heat like some

balmy squall over the Indies,

kicking up waves of white

sheets, hailing down expensive

pens and pencils, tossing

eyeglasses violently like some

wandering bark in turbulent seas

until it crashed upon jagged land;

then down came the books, frail

walls toppling under duress.

I hunkered down, tried as a grizzled

sea captain; lowered the main sail

and battened down the hatches,

for I'd seen these devil winds

before. No brubru nor bull's eye

surprised and they would end

just as quickly as they'd blown in,

dissipating back into a warm

breeze, swift heading, and calm seas.

Soon enough she, with hair a wild mane

telling of wind and eyes dewy from rain,

spoke again, “We need a break. I

need a break, Anthony. I—”

I cut her off, “You should have one.

Go out. You should chill.” She

started to speak, her right

hand diddling with fingers on the left.

I cut in, rote, “I've got some work

to finish, some stuff to edit.

We will talk more later, honey.”

I turned back to the desk,

began to clean the mess and

pulled out spare glasses from

the drawer's recesses.

Rain and wind ceased to exist,

up went the rigging and sails—

But I could not have heard as

She wandered darkly down

the hall, halting pensive

at the door and choking

back tears as she tore

the ring from a slender

digit of the left hand

and breathily whispered

in the tongue I fondly loved,

“Que sera sera, que sera sera.

Je ne t'aime plus, mon amour,”

as the ring fell to the floor—

And I puzzled at the helm,

for then down dropped the breeze.

And we did speak only to break

the silence of the sea.