Love Notes
   
      by Melissa Watkins Starr

      

I saved his notes in case I decide to write a book,
a song, or a suicide note in unabashed cliché.

Your love makes me the most blessed man this side of heaven.
May God keep you safe and happy in my loving arms.

This, two weeks in, from a man who knew 
my heart and left letters on my pillow:

Have a sweet and restful sleep, sweetheart.  
You are truly special. Your love fills my heart with joy.

At first, he clowned to make my children smile, 
helped with housework, massaged overworked feet. 

My love grows stronger every day. You are the only one
to share my deepest thoughts and dreams.

After three months, I let him move in, smiled 
when he bragged to his friends about my income.

Thanks for understanding when I had to quit my job.
I can’t see how you do it.  You’re a good woman.

Four months in, I go on valium.
I’m chilled to learn he’s watching me.

I checked your odometer today.
Just where have you been, honey?  

It strikes me—a mass production frenzy cranked 
out these charmers who morph into angry drunks.

I hate for you to be so sad.  I can see in your eyes 
that, for some reason, you’re not happy.


After six months, he punched my jaw—
my fault really—I provoked him. 

You’re not really hurt. It’s just a bruise. 
You should learn to think before you speak.

Two weeks have passed. My children are hiding.
I wish they weren’t home. His voice rings in my ears,

“I’m Satan. Kneel before me! You didn’t know
you’re one of Satan’s whores, did you, you stupid bitch?”