A Divorce

We began the end of it,
our feet on the blocks
for a 3.5 year race,
time-outs with a mediator,
lawyers on cell phones
cheering from bleachers,
clocking their minutes.

Year two, “You will lose,”
you whispered in my ear
at our daughter’s
college graduation.

One cold day
soon after it was over
I lingered in a warm shower
and remembered that
you had saved my life, twice,
And I had saved yours.

We kept each other alive
and fought to be free.
Tell me
who won, who lost.

Lainey Schear studies, writes, and teaches poetry, short prose, and essays. Her work has appeared in
Poetry East, Pearl, Blue Line, The Bellevue Literary Review, The Banyan Review, J Journal, and The Dew Drop, among others.
A founding member of the Z Street Writers, she lives in Somerville, Massachusetts.