This is a work of fiction and is in no way meant to accurately portray any person or persons living or dead.
Maggie sat at her Smith-Corona, a pencil snugly wedged between the side of her head and right ear. She looked closely at the word, “Habitation” that she had typed 15 minutes before. It was the title of a poem she had felt compelled to write, but once she'd set down to actually compose it, nothing had come into her head.
Suddenly, thinking of the past, Maggie uttered a low, "Ah ha!" and began to feverishly type,
Marriage is not
a house or even a tent
it is before that, and colder:
a house or even a tent
it is before that, and colder:
She paused for a moment, then half-turned in her chair so that she could see out of the corner of her eye, her life partner Graeme who was sitting on the living room sofa reading the evening paper. "Graeme?" she spoke excitedly, "I've found it!"
Graeme looked up from the sports page where he was reading an article about former hockey star Bobby Hull and asked absently, "What's that dear? Found it? Found what? The television remote? That's good dear."
Maggie's expression changed from wide eyed excitement to a squinting perturbed look. "You aren't listening to me again Graeme! Get your head out of the hockey schedule and listen to me! I've found it, the beginning of my poem!"
Graeme, who had finished reading the Hull article was indeed eyeing the schedule to see who his beloved Toronto Maple Leafs were playing that night. Without looking up he tried to feign interest and replied, "That's good dear. I knew you could do it!"
Displeased with his lack of interest, she uttered a loud, "Uggghhh!" and turned back to her typewriter, filled with ammunition.
the edge of the forest, the edge
of the desert
the unpainted stairs
at the back where we squat
outside, eating popcorn
the edge of the receding glacier
of the desert
the unpainted stairs
at the back where we squat
outside, eating popcorn
the edge of the receding glacier
She stopped, blew on her hands and muttered, "It's cold in here." Graeme, nodded but did not move his eyes away from the paper, "Cold? I set the thermostat to 25."
Maggie gave another "Uggghhh" and grumbled under her breath, "That's not what I meant you stupid neanderthal." Having uttered those words, Maggie shouted, "Ah!" and began typing,
where painfully and with wonder
at having survived even
this far
we are learning to make fire
at having survived even
this far
we are learning to make fire
She quickly grabbed at the sheet of paper and yanked it from the typewriter's carriage. Jumping up from her chair, she brought the poem over to Graeme and proudly declared, “I've finished the poem. Here, have a look."
Graeme sighed, put down his paper, took the crumpled sheet and read the first few lines before pronouncing, "It's another poem about your ex-husband Jim, I take it."
"What makes you think that?" Maggie challenged, growing red in the face. Graeme did not answer for he had gone on reading the poem. He finished and looked at Maggie who was standing before him, waiting, "Well? she asked.
"It's good Maggie...umm, yes, very good."
"Is that all it is, good?
"No, it's quite good, it's just..." his voice trailing off.
"It's just what?" she asked in a grave tone that he knew well enough to obey.
"Well, it's just, how could they be outside eating popcorn if they had yet to learn how to make fire?"
Maggie stood stiff, her face growing pale, but after a moment, she recovered enough to claim her anger. "You don't know anything about poetry!" she shouted and stormed off to the kitchen where she stared abjectly at the tray of ice cubes in the freezer compartment of the refrigerator. She should have known better than to unchain Prometheus from the mountain. She hated when he was right, that he didn't understand the rules of cohabitation. She wished he would just keep quiet and let her make the fire.
Honorable mention
Adding your comment:
I love this .
WHAT? Her husband tolerates her poetry? How lucky is SHE? VERY! 
You wrote a story with a poem inside, so you get extra appreciation from me. 
We do have these, though: 
