If you ever find pictures of me under the bed of your new lover
Kimberly Wolf
please know that you aren’t the first to feel this
I have also loved those with women hidden in shoeboxes
little shrines to a person who wasn’t me
but if stood side by side could be mistaken for my sister
in another life
I find the pictures and have a fit
ungraceful
I scream and I make ultimatums
I throw his things out onto the lawn
despite it being his home I sleep in
but this is the reality of the situation
I ignored it
let her secret eyes bore holes into my back while I lay in his bed
made space for her
could feel her breath
warm on my neck
and almost understood why he couldn’t throw the photos out
when he left
I acted like I didn’t know why he wasn’t happy
bore that weight
of a hollow love
in which I was good
and quiet
and still not her
so believe me when I say I know the cold sickness spreading through your gut
when one morning you stand in his kitchen holding the letters you found under the sink
that he never sent me
Darling
please listen
don’t spend one second asking yourself if your hands are smaller than mine
pack your things
make sure the gas tank is full
burn the letters for me
and burn his bed for us both
drive to a rest stop six hours away
and spend the afternoon memorizing your own face
tracing your laugh lines
and then
Sweet Stranger
forget my name
Kimberly Wolf is a bipolar mom living in Texas. She enjoys driving fifteen hours to eat a peach on a mountain and fighting for tenants’ rights. You can find more of her poetry in Nymphs and Trampset.


© Variant Literature Inc 2021