Partway through tonight’s meeting
of Homewreckers Anonymous
(of course the flyers don’t call it that,
but we all know why we’re here)
the turtlenecked woman with the low voice
talks of serial monogamy. Only
she places emphasis
on the second syllable:
I think immediately
of Magritte, his lovers blanked out
by pillowcases, and Varo’s psychoanalysis patient
striding forth after a session. I revisit
my private collection of strange scenes:
the bitten quince, the wasps indoors,
the rain rinsing the refrigerator
after the ceiling collapsed. I remember
a car window smashed into glitter,
mixed with blood in my husband’s hair.
The uncanny likenesses of love.
They Did, of Course.
Though I’ve lived
by this apricot tree
through five long, bare winters,
this summer’s leaves
were so lush and green
I began to doubt
they'd ever fall.
Kate Horowitz is a poet, essayist, and science writer in Washington, DC. Her work on illness, gender, love, loneliness, birds, and vampires has appeared in Monstering, Qu, Luna Luna, Bitch, Bright Wall/Dark Room, The Atlantic, Pacific Standard, and many more. She blogs at thingswrittendown.com and tweets @delight_monger.