Dear Edison

Dear Edison,

At the center of a light bulb

Is the twist of an idea

And next to the idea

Is the person in the other room

Gathering up her thoughts

She finds herself

Listening to invention

But through a wall

Or past a door

Or beyond her own understanding

Not because she isn’t bright

But because she’s married to a genius

A genius who doesn’t pick up his socks

Or remember to let the dog out

In the morning

She’s called ‘beleaguered’ by friends

But she feels all right

The mornings are mostly empty

But the afternoons have sound

And the evenings

Still have a touch of the physical

Wine fills up just so much

Of certain glasses

Left around the kitchen

And the garbage looks like

It could spark a fire

At any moment

Other than these small breakdowns

She feels good about her life

And the man she loves

The man in the other room

Her pockets have notes in them

And the notes tell stories

About how this day was

Or that day

Like the day she found out she was pregnant

And the day she found out she wasn’t

Edison, she’s looking for you

And you don’t seem to want to be found

Why is that?

Nobody asked you

If you wanted a wife

You were just given one

As was the custom

Of the day

That’s your excuse

For falling in love

With electricity

Rather than intimacy

Menlo Park is so quiet

Sometimes you swear you can hear

The crackle and buzz

Of something

Being brought to life

Through science

Rather than the more…traditional means

Do you remember her

Crying in the den

That day?

That Wednesday

The first of the month

Around one in the afternoon

When you emerged from your study

Ready to see

What lunch had been prepared for you

So you could complain that it was cold

Or too salty?

She was on the floor

In the kitchen

Looking not as though

She’d fallen

But more like

She’d forgotten

How to stand up

You asked what was wrong

She told you

You offered some pointless wisdom

Some tidbit of sympathy

And then you went

Right back to work

Unable to stop

Unable to see

That somebody

Needed something from you

That wasn’t going to change humanity

But could pick them off the floor

And teach them

How to stand again

Edison, your wife lives

In a dark room

While you go around

Making light bulbs

She speaks to no one

While you imagine

Telephones

She lets loneliness

Take her to sleep

Every night

While you dream of a world

Where nobody will be lonely

Because nobody will be disconnected

And all the while

You’re not connected to anything

But wires

And cords

And circuits

And things nobody can see

Or even imagine

But you

She goes to bed

And she asks you

To go with her

And while you wonder

How you can tell her

That you’re never coming to bed

Because you’ll never sleep

Because you’ll never let a second go by

That hasn’t been put

To its very best use

Something goes out in her

Something gets shut off

And can never be turned on

Again