The Absinthe

2021

L’absinthe by Edgar Degas 

On the day of our wedding, 

he swore for me 

to be by his side always till death do us part 

whether it be in his bed, on the couch, by his work table 

fetching him food, lighting his cigars 

waiting upon his love. 

Wine bottles clinked in celebration, 

along with the whistles of his groomsmen 

polite felicitations of my bridesmaids 

as we rode off in the rocking, unsteady carriage 

pulled by a dark, tamed mare 

under the harsh snap of reins 

into the world of marriage 

in the City of Love and Lights. 

Even as the years wore on 

I never give my husband a reason not to love me 

even if it’s exactly how our son loves his pet mouse. 

My prettily weak features, delicate pink flush and white powder 

on my nose, small and docile, dutiful and quiet 

the ideal wife, you could say 

whether it be in the common room, in the kitchen, in the nursery cleaning his house, pouring his drinks, handling our children 

Just for his satisfaction at the end of a day, what more could a wife want? In return our marriage is perfect, even with the pipe always hanging between his lips, whiskey always at his elbow, he gives me affection 

loving, pleased grins at my face whenever I refill his glass. 

This happily ever after, this honeymoon period, 

never let it end, may we live within it forever. 

But I find myself with a different beloved on the side 

I long for it more than I long for my husband.

I yearn for the way it slowly blurs my surroundings the way it makes my heart palpitates against fitted corset It’s familiar intoxicating haziness that washes over my head when I taste it on my lips 

I yearn for the way the Absinthe just makes me forget the weight of the battered ring on my left hand.

ONE OF THE REASONS WHY NATALIE FU (CLASS OF 2023) WRITES IS TO EXPLORE THE UNCHARTED TERRITORIES OF HER IMAGINATION. SHE ENJOYS IDEATING AND DAYDREAMING ABOUT POTENTIAL STORY PLOTS IN HER FREE TIME.