bedfellows magazine
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Once Love is Gone, It’s Gone Everywhere
Can’t stop 
walking past the pub
we last kissed at.
I look for you 

at the shuffleboard
table in the window
& you’re never there.
While eating pizza

last night
we determined
our periods
have synced up

& we will both start
this weekend
Sunday’s full moon
cuing our wombs.

Sadness is the moon.
Everything else
eclipsed. We are 
trying to transition into

friendship. I choose
my soup recipes
as if you are still
the audience

curried 
noodled.
I eat alone
until nothing

else will fit
wish my emptiness
were literal.
The last time 

we looked at the moon 
from right here
I stopped cars
to help a stray cat

cross the street.
When I got back 
to our blanket
you touched my hand

said you’re a good person.
I buy chocolate
& hide it from myself 
but I know where it is.

Try to save it 
for emergencies
but it’s always
an emergency.

The ambulance 
speeding by negates me.
When we looked
at the moon you asked 

what would the moon’s
name be if not
moon?
I don’t know. 
You said Persephone.

Queen of the underworld.
Seed of the fruits 
& the fields. Vegetation 
goddess. Spring

a half a year away
& my windshield 
already early-fall 
frosted. My hands too cold 

to be bare. My womb
barren just how 
I like it. If I 
plant this sadness

in the garden
I am certain
it would die there
if I were more 

capable of neglect.
I will cramp up 
on my walk.
You will be 

in the bath
with your salts. 

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