They tell me not to tell anyone, for my own safety,
Because then people will know I am living here alone.
But slowly the news leaks out of me,
Air out of a balloon until it is deflated,
And everyone knows. My neighbors,
A check out girl and the post office man
Who stamps my boxes, ships them over
To a base in the middle of Afghanistan,
Everyone knows now,
How my husband is at war.
The hard part is not the telling or trying not to.
The hard part is that no one really cares.
Because this war is over there, and because
It is my husband who is gone, not theirs, and
Sometimes I want to wrap my whole house
In yellow ribbons, wrap yellow ribbons tight
Around the ribs of this house,
So when he is killed in combat,
No one will be able to ignore me.