a red haired woman
stalks my dreams with her long legs
followed by her husband’s existential crisis
which coincided with one of my own

she dressed sweetly in ballet flats and dresses sprinkled with flowers

on dreary Sunday afternoons
with sounds like migrating whales
he and I would blow philosophy

she liked to rest with her head in my lap and pretend to listen
while I stroked her hair

one day my touch gave way to my thirst for her
I prayed that the grace of her skin
would sigh at the glaze of my hand on her neck

it did not

she leapt like a timid wren
to brood in the kitchen
where the clang of cups and the kettle rattling
pronounced the clatter of my terrorist heart

soon after, her husband began giving me small gifts
which grew more important to me
in a way I could reveal to no one

they were things he would
have given her, too
and sometimes did, like
dresses made dangerous in their similarity
bracelets crafted from the same metal

my favorite present was a perfect linen dress
it was white with Battenberg lace
when I wore it for him,
I imagined her in it
             turning around for me to admire

Angela Kubinec works as Senior Editor at Easy Street, an online literary journal. Her story “23 Images in Your Gallery of Absent Things” was given an honorable mention in Glimmer Train’s Fall Fiction Open (2017) and was also named a finalist in Back Warrior’s 2017 competition.