Marian Kilcoyne

 

Luminosity

I asked you why you had no courage. You said it was not a material issue. Was it not a material issue, I asked, when you allowed me to be embarrassed by the tramp shimmying up your leg at the fall conference two years ago? Was it not a material issue, I asked, that when you got a chance to spend a research year in a warm country, you turned it down? I told you it was essential for me to have a change of scenery. You said it was too much upheaval for just twelve months. I said you lacked courage to step outside yourself, to do something unexpected or give life a good rollicking.

Had it not been a material issue when you refused point blank to upset your father by telling him to shut the hell up as he snidely questioned my ancestral origins? You told me I suffered from a surfeit of courage. You said no one could be expected to clothe themselves in courage all day long. I told you these were ordinary things, quotidian situations. I told you ‘courage’ should be inserted in all marriage vows, a failure thereof to be viewed as worthy of estrangement. You said I was insane, drunk on philosophy and twisted by propriety.

I told you I wanted to go back to medical school. Your alarm was registered on the Richter scale of terror. I pressed on. You backed away. I insisted. You talked money. I talked life. You talked kids. I said no. You sulked.

I told you the meanness of a lack of courage was unworthy of you, of us. You said I wanted to conquer the world. I said that it was possible. You turned away, your blue eyes full of pain. I said I was sorry for the death of your putative humanity. You sat down. I sat down.

I picked up the pen and signed the papers, with intent.

CP

Marian Kilcoyne lives on the West coast of Ireland overlooking the Atlantic ocean. Her work has appeared in The Smoking Poet and is forthcoming at Grey Sparrow Journal.