How the World Works When We Let It

My Husband Never Takes Me Anywhere

so I sometimes, you understand,
envy my city friends who have
Twyla Tharp,
"Long Day's Journey Into Night,"
and Wynton Marsalis
at their fingertips.
Oh, I know,
we went for a jeep ride
up the Ramsey Road
stopping at the beaver pond
just in time to see
a flock of mergansers settle in.
And we walked the length of Indian
     Island last July,
picking Indian paintbrush and wading
     in the back cove.
And just this spring
we rode our bikes to Willow Creek
where the fish were running.
So many you could catch them with
     your hands.

Another season goes by.
I guess
Grant Wood,
"Moon for the Misbegotten,"
and Baryshnikov
will have to wait again.
You see, it isn't easy
having a husband who never takes you
     anywhere.
I have to settle for
bald eagles circling the white pines
across the "second bay,"
bumblebees buzzing the lilacs on the
     bank,
and riding with George
as he steers our canoe
through a slice of silver moon
on Whitefish Lake.


~ Teresa Claire Coughlin




I am Teresa Claire Coughlin, or was in an earlier "incarnation."  This poem was published one summer in the mid-1980's by The Christian Science Monitor. This international and well-respected newspaper would sometimes publish unknown or little known poets as well as poets of some note on their Home Forum page. I belonged, of course, in that first category. But, about a week after my poem was published, they published one by Ted Hughes. I felt I was in awfully good company, poetically speaking.

I can still recall how happy I was when I walked the half mile to our mailbox at the end of the road to find an acceptance letter from them which read (believe me, I remember this), "We would be delighted to publish your poem..."

George and I, married for ten years, divorced now for over twenty, have remained friends, for which I'm very grateful, and not just because of our son, Coleman, but because it's how the world should work when relationships change, how the world does work when we let it.

The images are my own, taken last spring, of my place along the river.