Loch Ness Marriage Poem by Irene Cunningham

My husband swims underground
through secret passages.
For him our home is a puddle of air
at the end of a long tunnel.
Rooms vibrate with the sound of his breathing
and numbered days swarm around me
like flocks of birds.

His stories are pressed into my life
details of travel pinned and pointed.
I follow him, touching his skin, his lips
yards of water trail across the walls.
Where is he now? I ask the maps
and catch the sound of men calling
his name from a boat full of nets.
They think he’s a monster.

My husband is big but quick as silverfish
in a barrel of flour.
Sometimes he calls, whispers
down the line leaving me breathless.
Loving him is a prison sentence.
I sign for deliveries in his name –
he’s been gone so long.

The air smells damp
I pay attention to mould taking shape.
Grey rooms snap at me, like bad-tempered dogs.
There is no colour
I switch on all the lights
but a mist has risen and I can’t see.

Silence lies on my face.
The music of the loch is cold
it preys on my mind and keeps my eyes in focus.
I wear my wedding dress and lie on our bed
living the ceremony again and again
and my fingers slip over silver sequins.

I sit up and fan the hem into its tail-shape.
The knocking on the door is loud
but I won’t let them in.
They can’t find him so they’ll have me instead.
Wind on the loch tips the waves
rocking the boat but I won’t panic.
My husband is swift and soon he’ll see me
this point of land, this island
and then I’ll be in his arms.

(Published in New Writing Scotland 2011)