The wig arrived in a pretty pink box. I’d ordered it online from a wig shop. Silky, blonde and long, it felt as if I were entertaining a movie star in my hallway. Grace Kelly in a box on my couch. So nice to meet you, I said, slipping it on.
A few days later, I came out to my husband. Our marriage exploded into shards in a matter of minutes.
Between this and that, my wife, my dear little cowslip,
was misdiagnosed with heart failure and everything I loved
lost its pigment. The old reds weren’t red anymore,
the rose bushes on the path by the river had lost their pink
two by two in the ark of
the ache of it
in August, she can walk
away from her fury
of pines, and catch
By coming to recognise the degree to which overlapping and different narratives shape our expectations in love, we can avoid some of the worst outcomes.
In the middle of the night when he thinks
I’m asleep, Bill will weep without sound
shaking the bed like a curse at God
that moment when you know
you did this one thing right