They can’t sit in the backseat together
he can’t bear her feet touching anything
she hates that he picks at dinner before grace
he hates her singing
she yells his name like it’s an injury
he just calls her names
she cries because he doesn’t love her
But there’s this picture of them hiking
a quarter mile ahead, and maybe they were laughing
And yesterday they sat on the same couch and watched
hours of this home-improvement reality show
Also, late at night we think they’re
separated, sleeping, but they’re not
and all I know of it are the game pieces I find
scattered on a bedroom floor
I remember to call my brother
I still feel the harsh rhythm
of his kicks on my bedroom door
and the wondering—do I love him?
I smile when his voice says hey
–
Sarah Maloy Bailey is a freelance developmental and copy editor specializing in memoir and children’s literature (an accidental but satisfying combo). She lives in Utah with her husband and their five incorrigible kids. When she’s not writing or editing, she can usually be found walking her dog, planning a travel adventure, or getting someone a band-aid.
© 2025, Sarah Maloy Bailey
Halfway Down the Stairs 