With Apologies to Ted Hughes

Apprehensions

Your writing was also your fear.
At times it was your terror, that all
Your wedding presents, your dreams, your husband
Would be taken. Your word processor. Your children.
All would be taken.
This fear was the color of your desk-top,
You almost knew its features.

That grain was like its skin, you could stroke it.
You could taste it in your milky coffee.
It made a noise like clacking of keystrokes.
It hid in its own jujus--

Your mantlepiece seashell
A good omen of protection

Your photographs
So many I have forgotten now.

You stared at these. You knew it was there.
It hid in your sharpie marker.

That was its favorite place. Whenever you wrote
You would stop mid-word,
To look at it more closely, fat, black
Between your fingers---
The swelling terror that would any moment
Suddenly burst out and take from you
Your husband, your children, your body, your life.
You could see it there, in your pen.

Somebody took that too.

-Modified from Birthday Letters by Ted Hughes.

Revision/Pastiche by Kevin Camp.