by Laura Hatch<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
On Sunday mornings the bishop\u2019s wife does not stay in bed
\nwhile her husband attends early morning meetings.
\nShe does not let the children play the Wii while she
\nreads a book of poetry. She would never lay
\nin a hammock and listen to the squirrels gossiping
\nand the cardinals chattering. She would not take a long bath
\njust for the feel of the heat on her skin. The bishop\u2019s wife
\ndoesn\u2019t imagine what it would be like to instead put on jeans
\nfrayed at the ankles, no shoes, no bra. She certainly wouldn\u2019t
\ndrop the children at the chapel for Sunday services then
\npeel out of the parking lot and drive and drive and drive and
\ndrive, stopping at every scenic lookout and rustic market
\ndotting the highway, until she glimpsed the ocean. She couldn\u2019t
\nswerve off the main road, skid through the dune grass, park
\nher minivan at the top of a hill, slide down to the shore,
\nstrip naked on the sand, wade into the foam until
\nshe dissolved into flotsam to be scattered
\nby the waves, burst into whale spray, washed upon
\na rocky beach, picked up by a barefoot
\nstranger and tucked into a pocket or tossed
\nback to sea. She never closes her eyes for just
\na moment and pretends she is nothing, there is nothing
\nshe has to be.
\n <\/p>\n
Laura Hatch is an MFA Candidate at Texas State University, where she teaches Composition. She has been the recipient of the Norman Peterson and Charles Mosely Endowment at Texas State and twice the recipient of the Texas State Graduate College Liberal Arts Scholarship.<\/p>\n