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15th of November 2018



Audio: Read by the author.

Any wonder he tossed back Sazeracs & sidecars,the one who always woke sullenas the long blue light between buildings,who slept with his back curledlike an accusation, who rockedhis weight onto his heels like an amateuractor overdoing Stanley in “Streetcar”when he hailed his cab in the morning.Any wonder there were apologies& bodega flowers wreathed with baby’s breath,any wonder there was another womanI never met & then the wedding invitation,no warning. He knew he was handsome—his worst gift. In restaurants he orderedwithout asking—steak tartare, dollop of yolkglistening in raw meat. To love a narcissistyou have to believe, & reader, I did—for a time, I loved him, I believedin his cruelty & beauty—buds in silverbirch, sparrows scufflingin the gravel by the basketball courtwhere I watched him play Sunday pickup—his brute musculature twistingbeneath his T-shirt, the springtimeitch of him—O, I believed as he shoved& dodged his way up to dunk, I believedas he spun that pebbled orange leatherin his fingertips like a cartographerturning the first terrestrial globe,its oceans gathered at the poleslike the curtains of a diorama,its continents warped & stretched—I believed the swish I heardwas the susurrus of reedson the bank of a blessed body of water,I believed in his first principles & precepts—& what I remember bestis how the ball slipped over the lipthen hung there a second—a midair moon in the shredded net.

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