Ceasefire The newscaster pauses as he realizes he’s just singsonged, ‘Talks ended with no truce in Belarus,’ and I see you leaning against a blue-domed church I know nothing about, going over your notes. You’ve been flinging yourself chest-first into stories the concerned mothers of mutual friends say you have no business touching. For years you have done this, trying to thump out of there what remains of a woman we both love. And this is something else I know nothing about.
-Published in The Wax Paper Vol. 1, Iss. 2.