husband

we met our husband in the dark.
he had arms full of groceries 
that turned out to be only eggs.
cartons & cartons of eggs. we both 
had wanted a husband for so long
we had forgotten what we wanted
him for. to carry things? to fix the roof?
to have something to mourn when he left?
he would not leave though. instead,
our husband sat on the sofa & watched
whatever sports he could find. he would
laugh too loud & then shout sometimes
at a rerun game. we were on edge. 
then, one morning, we noticed what
he was doing with the eggs. he was 
swallowing them whole. we had wondered how
he managed to stay so meaty without
consuming any of the meals we made for him.
this was the terrifying answer. we decided 
to not let him know we'd seen him. avoided him
in the house as much as we could. 
i remember years ago when we met
& we talked about labels. would we be husbands?
partners? beloveds? definitely not wives. 
the term would never hold me. it was like
a cullender & i was the water. you have always been
more of a husband than me. i begin to worry
that you eat eggs like that too. that you
swallow whatever you need whole. when you
are asleep & the husband is asleep i get up.
i inspect your face for signs that 
you have been learning how to be a husband
from our invited intruder. i find none. 
feel guilty for not trusting you. 
in the morning dark i ask you, "will
you help me catch him?" you breathe, "yes."
a relief. he was easier than we thought he'd be
to restrain. we walked him out into the middle
of the field far enough so that we were shore
he would struggle to find his way back. 
we like to think he is some else's husband now
though on years when the corn grows tall
i feel like i see him, thinner now. mouth like
a pried open soup can. hungry for 
something none of us can name.