I cut off each part of her I loved,
he said, arranging on the furniture,
her freshly sectioned limbs.
Things had been spiraling downward
for quite awhile–
dishes left for a week
from turkey soup
made of parts,
bloody neck, gizzards, heart.
She hated the soup
as she hated the smell of thanksgiving,
for escape techniques,
He noticed everything,
the way she would nod
and disappear mid-conversation,
halfway through his exclamation
about the world’s imminent end
and how she was the only beautiful
woman in the world.
Sarah Kezman’s poems have appeared in the Antietam Review, Pivot, Long Island Quarterly, Sans Merci, the Shepherdstown Chronicle, the Shepherdstown Good Newspaper and the anthologies, Wild Sweet Notes II and In Good Company. Sarah received her degree in English and Women’s Studies from Shepherd University and misses Shepherdstown where she was a member of the Bookend Poets from age 15 through college. She lives in Northeast, PA.