Siren

She sang the most
beautiful song she knew
from her kitchen – as
she cleaned dinner plates and
saucepans; sang a melody that
made her soul ache, sang with
all her heart – sang the way
her husband would once
coax her to sing  
when they were
younger, to sing  
with less trepidation and more
soul
 
She imagined her husband
watching her, listening to  
her from his spot
in the living room, hearing her
sing her notes, the rise and
fall, the verse, the chorus, the
bridge
 
She imagined captivating him  
like she did when they were
young – becoming the siren and
winning him over, winning him
back, so that
he’d look at her with both new
and old eyes, so that what  
had been dropped and lost
would be found again in
her notes echoing off
the walls
 
She heard her husband
pipe in as the song
hit its refrain.
 
“I’m trying to watch
the game – could you please
keep it down?”
 
She finished the dishes in silence.