The Husband Confesses

by CX Dillhunt

State Street, Early February

I confess, I have spent the afternoon

wandering from bookstore to bookstore.

I confess, I have fallen in love again

with dead poets, some of them women.

I confess, I am reading a poem while

walking down the street. It is cold.

I have lost my hat. I have no gloves on

because I cannot turn the pages if I do.

I jump from page to page, from book to

book. I have gotten some of them on sale.

I confess I do not know to whom I confess.

I confess I am now writing while walking.

I am not paying attention to time or manner

as I understand for a moment that the books

have forgotten they are books, that the street

has forgotten I am there as the words begin

to confess. They have lost their way, they

are guilty they say of these purchases.

They confess they saw me coming, are glad

To have an afternoon walk and wouldn’t

I walk more slowly, tell them why I love,

speak softly, remind them of anything,

tell them who wrote them, and confess one

more time to every passerby how I know

books love and how I have fallen again,

taken time for this walk as I make my last

confession: I can no longer feel these pages,

I do not know who is holding this open.

~ from Things I’ve Never Told Anyone (Parallel Press)