February
Saturday in May
By Paula Brancato
TK’s apartment… penury, a penal colony… no windows… borrowings… towels, rags, mittens… flew up in my own vehicle… I was the only one who had one… large building… been here before… upper floors glass… white pine notes… no privacy… I drink his poison… I throw it… he shows me a fridge… small box in which to do this… two women comment all the while… another man following, flying downtown… my first husband TK and I never lived downtown… he was a pilot… removed, emotionless, something under… there… somewhere… kind enough… before I confused it… went across the hall to the other man’s flat… TK hands me a toothbrush and robe (he may as well have saluted)… in the back of the room is our fertility doctor… I go for it… the shower, but I cannot find it… cannot find anything… tooth sore… TK’s given me a packet… I almost threw it away… it is in my hand… is my hand… back… in the back bedroom the woman… Keira Knightly young… something I regret… jealousy… mine…