He Called Me Honeybunch
by Karen Sherk Chio Read author interview November 23, 2015
He called me Honeybunch and I called him Sweetheart. He came over when I totaled my Nana’s car. I wrote him a poem on sage-scented paper for the anniversary of his brother’s death, and gave it to him before a pink sunrise.
He held me close as our hearts pounded in shock over the blue plus sign. I cradled his head when the doctor told us there was no heartbeat, his tears stringing down my elbows. He was gentle with me when I was sad at our wedding. I loved our two-day honeymoon because I loved him.
He tolerated my melancholy when it drew into days, weeks, months. I was secretly terrified by our new house. He was the one who threw out the condoms. I tried not to be morning-sick in his car. He pretended restlessness helped him care for a newborn more easily. I pretended I loved them both equally.
He rolled over when I reached out in the night. I liked that we seemed happy in front of our child. He bought weights and running shoes. I wrote more poems, aching for sleep. He held our daughter, rippled arms curving like feathers. I held our daughter, thinking of the pain in my back.
He told me he was finitely patient. I told him I felt flawlessly alone.
He said he saw six shooting stars when I awoke to his gazing out the window. I stared until my eyes crossed at the night sky: a painted bowl breaking at dawn, shattering quietly around us.
About the Author:
Karen Sherk Chio holds degrees in French, Spanish, and Public Health. She lives in the Boston area with her husband and young children.
About the Artist:
Ashley Inguanta is a former art director of SmokeLong Quarterly and author of three poetry collections: The Way Home (Dancing Girl Press, 2013), For the Woman Alone (Ampersand Books, 2014), and Bomb (Ampersand Books, 2016). Next year, Ampersand Books will publish her newest collection, The Flower, about how death shapes us.
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