In my previous post on divorce, I included a sonnet describing one father’s experience trying to connect with his children the only way he knew how to do: buying presents for them. Over my lifetime, friends have shared with me the anguiah they’ve experienced when divorce occurs.
Previously, I advanced the position that divorce (in my opinion) is another tragedy in the laundry list of horrors that constitute our Brave New World (as set forth in this post, this one and this one). I still maintain that position. Divorce may dissolve a marriage but everyone gets hurt: the two parties immediately involved, any children involved, the extended family and friends, and yes, society itself.
Needless to say, my point of view isn’t shared by everyone … and that’s okay. Today, my post contains another sonnet, this one from the wife’s point of view. I have sat over lunch with many a dear friend and listened to her sobs and witnessed the heartache spill out like a flood. I’ve learned these are the times when there’s little that can be done or said.
Nevertheless, I am always deeply affected by these outpourings, and as I’ve said before, it often translates into my poetry. When I listen to a friend in the midst of her sorrow, I’m most likely to empathize to the point of making it personal, viewing the destruction she was experiencing. This poem was written fifteen or twenty years ago, and depicts what my friend communicated, but interpreted through my mind’s eye.
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