Portrait of My Husband

by Linda Paloheimo

“Chiseled features,” they said,
As though carved from
The hard Scandinavian ice.
A deep silence inside
From the months of winter dark.

He wandered in the fields of
Mathematics with
Omegas, deltas and infinities.
Algorithms were his headrest.

Tall and lean,
He searched ruthlessly for the
Reason of his Being.
A ready smile when he met
Something new, as if to say,
“This is gonna be good!”

And so much was good
To him,
So much acceptable.
Unless you stepped into his space,
And then the toothmarks
On his pencil,
Grew into craters.

— from Juniper Volume 3, Issue 3