Enero, 28

In the divorce, the splitting
up of things, the rendering
of long acquired products,
you can have the computers,
both mine and yours, the CD’s,
all the books and electronics.
I may ask for one stuffed bear
or the big pair of slippers,
so these are things you can claim
must be yours, in all fairness.
I will take the bills, pay them
each off monthly while charging
for your new dress and new
breasts, your dinners with young men.
At that point, I’ll want nothing
but the freedom to wander
through the door of my one room
apartment, discard my coat
and plop down on the sofa
rather than sleep in the bed.
So you can claim the sofa
too, knowing I long to rest
there, that this is my secret
wish, the image keeping me
strung out and tired at night,
the peace keeping me writing.
You’ll leave and leave me the bed,
stupid pillow-topped mattress.

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A day is not done, until it's filled with words.

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