We Could Meet On Sundays

I wish I could start a group for women who are in love with married men. We could meet on Sunday's, and drink coffee, and eat lots of donuts in frustration.

So, there could be one woman in the group who speaks up, and says, "No, really, he said he was getting a divorce."

And I could watch eyes roll around the circle of the group.

"No, honey," one of them could say, "He's just trying to either fuck you up the ass or tie you to the bed."

Nods all around.

It's Summer

Summer time reminds me of my psychotic episode, the chaos, the terror, the confusion, the constant threat I felt of pending death--

Out of everything anyone could have said, I wish someone would have just told me,

"Hey, it's going to be okay."

But no one ever did.