Divorce Agreement
Emily Hyland
It was not the
paltry sad of one final
making of love I
don’t know how to write
about the way his eyes looked
the last time. It was not
fucking it was not sleeping
together, it was
a powerline cut was
a body alone in my body, his
bile eyes above me bothered
dreamboats of anger on the
sparsely flowered bedding
two crags chipped off
and into the sea
down and down. He was
intense that night those eyes
the pitch of raven
starless ink like punctures
looking perhaps more
deeply than I’d
noticed in some time
a look of breaking
vein popping across
unsunny undereye
heavy as if hit. When
it is time to sign he
makes edits anew
again, asks me to dinner.
What I know is
no woman
will ever
uncover him more, will
know how his dad would
read to him at the beach how he
savored the rustle
of his father’s feet
against summer sheets
to lull him to sleep. I know
other bits too how he
does not like his
ribs to be touched or
the bony part of his
iliac crest how
to hold him
is a skill
of sliding an
arm around his
skein of bones
barely to brush
and be
very still.
Emily Hyland
It was not the
paltry sad of one final
making of love I
don’t know how to write
about the way his eyes looked
the last time. It was not
fucking it was not sleeping
together, it was
a powerline cut was
a body alone in my body, his
bile eyes above me bothered
dreamboats of anger on the
sparsely flowered bedding
two crags chipped off
and into the sea
down and down. He was
intense that night those eyes
the pitch of raven
starless ink like punctures
looking perhaps more
deeply than I’d
noticed in some time
a look of breaking
vein popping across
unsunny undereye
heavy as if hit. When
it is time to sign he
makes edits anew
again, asks me to dinner.
What I know is
no woman
will ever
uncover him more, will
know how his dad would
read to him at the beach how he
savored the rustle
of his father’s feet
against summer sheets
to lull him to sleep. I know
other bits too how he
does not like his
ribs to be touched or
the bony part of his
iliac crest how
to hold him
is a skill
of sliding an
arm around his
skein of bones
barely to brush
and be
very still.