FEMINISM Poem by kristina marie darling

After the divorce, after your mistress, after the stars were eclipsed by the bright lights of the city, I gathered all of the broken dishes you'd left behind. I placed each one of them on a little shelf, recorded their height in a dark green book.


I began to realize the significance of this gesture. What is love but a parade of memorable objects, a row of dead butterflies pinned under glass?


You had always loved mementos. Once you'd even rented a small boat to find your missing porcelain statuette.


I started to wonder what other gifts you'd leave behind. The dried insects I'd find in each of your letters.


I closed the cabinet door, counted each piece of shattered glass, and tried to imagine them all in your perfect white hands.