“Outside the Bedroom” by Sean Karns

Outside the Bedroom

1.

You slouch in the car seat

and mumble ich will nicht ausserhalb vom Schlafzimmer.

I believe it’s about the long red light

blocks from your husband’s home.

There is a pressure outside

the bedroom as potential witnesses

bike the crosswalk.

You cover your eyes

like your three-year-old daughter

scared of seeing something awful.

2.

I stand on the balcony

as you pedal away.

I want to pedal next to you

and do ordinary things—

casual walks, Café Apropos

and the Columbus museum.

But you pedal faster.

When you’re gone,

I find weeks of your hair.

3.

We can go onto the balcony.

It’s getting cooler.  I want to show you

the large oak tree.  It will hide us.

I have bread we can roll

into pebbles and toss onto the yard

to occupy the robins.

The neighbors are at work.

We have this place to ourselves.

4.

Getting used to using each other—

I watch you put your clothes

back on and leave.

In the morning,

there’s a pleasure

smell of you,

two sets of earrings

on the nightstand,

artifacts under dust.

Sean Karns is a poet living in Illinois. His work has appeared in various national literary journals. The above poem originally appeared in Folio and is reprinted here by permission of the author.