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Your Marriage
- University of Wisconsin Press
- Chapter
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Your Marriage On the table where I take my meals, there is a bowl of stones blue as teeth. One is cleaved exactly though I cannot find its other half, river-smooth, white-struck— a pestle, or hatchet’s perfect head. I can make up the story: two fields needed a divider. It was granite, wedged with wood and hammer, a wall left to winter. Cold contracts— the plank floor, door frame, even the mineral heart. You must have known this; you returned to her. I am not a woman of substance. I look back and you lie there, naked, the city in ruins. My body dissolved like grains. -47- ...