The Physicist’s Wife
by Chris Corwin
My fingers pressing firmly
the smooth metal,
I shut the car door,
a delicate
clicking shut gently,
then enter the yard by the ivy path.
I see the shade of your study lit dull yellow,
and know, though I am late, innocently,
you are not angry.
Fumbling at the lock,
I look up and hesitate at
the soft yellow of light cast
from the glass onto the lawn,
and wonder, calculating my slipping
into bed alone,
what is occupying
you so intensely tonight,
in your curious affair with the unknown.
Chris Corwin lives in Berkeley. He has experience teaching poetry, philosophy, world religions, art history, and theology/biblical studies, with a special emphasis in Biblical Hebrew Poetry. Some of his articles on poetry have appeared in Radix Magazine; his poems have appeared in Nexus, the Hawaii Review, and Bay Guardian. Poetry for him is an avenue into an exploration of experiences, a transformation of them into the framing of art, a combination of emotion and intellect, expressing/recreating and attempting to assess the best and worst of things, a nexus between spirituality, philosophical traditions/ideas/dilemmas/conundrums, a lens for seeing clearer through distortions of social norms, and dead religious forms. Moments of inspiration produce in him a kind of ecstasy, an opening of the self, an expansion.
