with-draw  \with-‘dro\  vb- withdrew; withdrawn; withdrawing-

a: to remove from a place of deposit < I check the pockets of my 

husband’s blue jeans before placing them in the washer and withdraw

a condom wrapper: a small crinkling cellophane square. The discovery

settles heavy in my stomach. I smooth the packet out between my fingers. 

The corners of my mouth lift up as if to laugh >  b: to remove oneself

from participation  < Gary and I haven’t had sex for two years.

Ever since my pregnancy he doesn’t seem interested, is always so tired.

Each time I advance Gary withdraws >  c: to draw (as a curtain) back

or aside < I think of  my neighbor who suffered a stroke and went blind.

One day she woke up and couldn’t remember the color blue. The memory

slipped away, withdrew, leaving a space as blank as the night >  

d: to turn away (as the eyes) from an object of attention < We eat dinner

with the ballgame on. I watch Gary closely. Search his pudgy body

for some illicit sexual aura. Baby Jack whines and Gary hushes him

without withdrawing his eyes from the screen >  e: to move back or away

< After dinner, when Gary leaves, I too withdraw. Leave Jack sleeping

in the crib. Get in my car and follow till Gary turns into his office parking

lot. I park down the street. Smoke two cigarettes. Wait. Figure it must be

one of the secretaries. Go closer. Slide behind the cat-piss bushes and press

my face to the glass: Gary, naked, his back facing me, his arms wrapped

around a man >  f: to become socially or emotionally detached < A small

pale man. Gary's mouth at the man’s neck, his hand in his hair. I watch them

kiss. Their middle-aged white-man bodies so similar they could be twins.

I watch them laugh. Watch, withdrawn. It is the softness of their touch

that shocks me. Catches in my throat, rips the scab off my loneliness.

The man helps Gary pull his shirt on. Straightens the collar, fastens the buttons

on the shirt I ironed yesterday morning > g: to draw back from a battlefield,

to retreat < I withdraw from the window. Crouch in the bushes until they leave.

I wrap my arms around my chest, pull my knees in. Above my head bats fly

blind. Confident in their inability to see the dangers all around them.

They swirl back to the sanctuary of the eaves. Pull their wings tight about

their small bodies. Withdraw.