I fumble for the switch, slap it off. The only light is the flickering of the EXIT sign, staining her pink. I pretend these are your lips, your hands, your teeth digging into my skin. I let her take what is yours.
It creeps along the edges of this room It lingers in the trace of her perfume It wraps itself around me serpentine All thorny shadows twisting up my spine Unfazed by jealousy, with arms widespread she beckons me to our connubial bed
The first time I called home from Russia I cried for half an hour. Thirty minutes of ugly bawling on the hard wooden bench in a phone booth at the Smolensk central post office while my father sat on the other end, speechless. He barely managed to ask, “So, how are you?” before I lost … Continue reading Love letters
I’m getting married again. The first time I got married, we started planning a year in advance. We had hand-made invitations and complicated seating charts for almost a hundred friends and family members. We tasted cakes and wines and hors d’ouevres. We agonized over the guest list. We booked a ballroom because we didn’t want … Continue reading Third time’s the charm
They didn't know that girls like you are trouble for girls like me. Your perfect nails, your laugh in the dark. They didn't expect your vulnerability to be the thing to break me. I didn’t expect to be the one to break.