Sometimes she still wrote, in airports, in Ohio
1. It's not like I just stopped writing but for one year I ran out of something-- my own inner workings, breathing patterns, the coordination with my fingers.
2. Angry Birds: hey babe can you beat this level? Hey babe, babe, babe what do I do with the red one? Hey babe, babe did you see my score in fruit ninja? Hey babe look at how fast I can slice with my left finger, look at the high score we got when we stopped loving each other. Hey babe was it a tie? Was it like Scrabble where you worded me into a corner or was it like Twister when I bent you into the wall?
3. Places. The same story "she can't stay put" "she should get married" "where do you even live now?" and I am sitting, standing my roadmap my gps my polite lies & my passport, I am saying let's do this. I am talking to the psychic and the psychologist, I am pleading with them to place their fingers on one of the fifty states. They recommend drinking more water, getting more sleep. I could write in a journal. Someone sells me a special crystal, I put it under my pillow, I can't remember what it's for.
4. I'm crying away my Latisse. If I don't stop sobbing my eyelashes won't grow. The lipstick doesn't last twelve hours, ask half the men this side of the mason-dixon line. They have shirt collars. Ask about my perfume, listen when he tells you I go to church on Sundays
5. We aren't supposed to be resentful, they say it in the circle. I try and explain I did it for a song. The woman dying on the table nods her head, the words of the dying forgotten from our vocabularies as we want at each other like vultures "love, family, respect."
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