by Jess L Parker
On the weeks when my son stays with his father
I cry myself to sleep. They say not to fight tears
so, I let them come and my bed floats away on
a salty river of memories and could-have-beens.
Even an unhappy marriage hurts to dismantle.
When more than a third of your life has been tethered
to another and it’s time to let go there’s still plenty of
love left around the edges like the shape that remains
upon lifting a glitter-glue snowflake. For better or worse,
I have always been great at imagining. So, I imagine
the half-moon body of his next lover curled in my
former bed—her dark, wavy hair caught in my sheets,
caught in his hands and my aching head. So, I imagine
a time when it hurts less. And hope. I imagine the word
round as a bubble rising in my throat until something
like happiness bursts and another first snowflake falls
on my eager, open tongue.
***
Jess L Parker is a poet and strategist from the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. Jess lives in Fitchburg, WI with her three-year-old son. Her debut poetry collection, Star Things, won the 2020 Dynamo Verlag Book Prize. Jess’ poems have appeared in Bramble, Kosmos Quarterly, Blue Heron Review, and elsewhere. Jess holds a BA of English and Spanish from Northern Michigan University, an MA of Spanish Literature from UW-Madison, and an MBA.
