The Fieldstone Review

Is Just a Dream, Dream, Dream


Though the novel was not about adultery,
she fantasized about her teenaged lovers
all night and confessed to her husband:
she had cuckolded him in her mind’s den.

He said, Why not stop reading the book, then?
But how could she stop? For the dreamland
the novel wove was a mystery to discover
God: how He was in love and our sultry
Affairs against his passion, and his overwhelming
adoration – who can win against that?
A husband or a teen romance can only hope
to fill a momentary emptiness, scratch an itch.

She read the novel, she passed the glitch
of jealousy to a scarier ground: to grope
for how to love and be loved by both God and man,
battering words for a bridge to that realm.