Have You Seen My Wife ? - a true story

Have you seen my wife?
the creaking floors, the hollow walls,
the garden where he planted beer cans
that bloom without joy.
 
She was the spark in his life once,
or so he thought
a face a caramel tart,
a voice like honey,
a promise dressed in silk.
But promises break,
don’t they?
 
Their house became a carnival,
not of laughter but of strangers.
Friends from overseas filled the guest rooms,
toasting her beauty,
praising the home he built.
Their cheers drowned the whispers
he refused to hear.
 
And then he came
the young lover with the smirk of youth
and eyes too hungry to hide his intent.
He slipped into the guest house,
a shadow in another man’s domain,
and she followed,
sly and silent,
pretending to babysit,
pretending to visit friends.
But it was not friendship
that made her slip into the lover's bed
night after night,
while the little dog curled by the door,
its knowing eyes full of betrayal.
 
Have you seen my wife?
She made him ask this question endlessly,
as he sat with his bottle,
drunk and drowning,
while she danced in the shadows,
pouring drinks for herself and her lover,
using his money
to fuel their wild nights of music and drugs,
to shower the lover with gifts
he never knew about.
 
She fed his drinking,
pressing the glass to his lips,
sweetening his food with poison,
until his mind fogged
and the nights blurred together,
leaving him too lost
to see the truth in front of him.
 
Have you seen my wife?
She vanished every night,
but her lies lingered,
a perfume in the air.
And when someone dared to tell him,
to say she was with another man,
he laughed,
poured another drink,
and drowned the words
that cut too close to his heart.
 
He didn’t believe them
how could he?
Her smile was the mask
he wanted to believe.
So he drank,
and the house drank with him,
its walls absorbing his sorrow,
its silence louder than her lies.
 
Then came the fire
a mysterious blaze
that consumed the home he loved
and the man he’d become.
He died in the flames,
never hearing her laughter again,
never knowing
if her greed had truly set the spark.
 
They say her son lit the match,
that her hands guided him
with promises of freedom,
of money,
of escape.
They say she wanted it all—
the wealth, the house,
the life she’d hollowed out,
leaving him to burn
with his questions.
 
Have you seen my wife?
She sold it all
the boat, the garden, the walls
and fled with her lover,
clutching the spoils of his wealth,
laughing as she ran.
 
But love was never in her heart,
only greed,
only hunger.
She knew not how to love,
not truly,
not the way he loved her
in his blindness.
 
Now he walks these grounds,
a shadow among the roses,
searching for the woman
who stole his life.
The echoes of his question linger,
soft as the breeze,
sharp as the thorns:
 
Have you seen my wife?
The little dog no longer waits at the door.
The guest house is empty.
The house is gone.
But still he searches,
calling into the void,
asking anyone who will listen,
 
Have you seen my wife?