His secret wife follows him wherever he goes, sidewalk to
sidewalk, bus stop to storefront. Secret wife is always a
step behind and a step to the left as he does his jerky
little dance through the city. He is searching for heroes
and lovers, lives and ideals, fragments and frenzies, and
his secret wife keeps pace.
Perhaps she does not receive enough attention, or perhaps
she is simply too familiar with him and his flaws; for
secret wife wants a divorce. She would like to fall out of
step, to slow down and turn down some side street behind
him, to tug at the sleeve of a policeman and beg for
salvation, but secret wives are made to be neither seen nor
(The greatest fear of a secret wife is the nagging suspicion
that she simply does not exist without her overt husband.
Q: In which lobe is she located?)
So the secret wife clasps her hands together, holds her head
up or hangs it down, as she follows her husband on concrete
and asphalt, matching him step for step. He has found some
things, and has yet to find others. Unless she taps him on
the shoulder, he will never find her at all.