6 November 2005 | Vol. 5, No. 3

Monologue of the Betrayed Woman After Reading Anne Carson

by KEITH MONTESANO

11. Her fancy words with no biography. She's the coward, the betrayer.

10. Do grapes feel that sweet while crushing them barefoot? Should I have made love like she did—sticky, swelled, then bursting?

9. Of all places, an airplane. The letters I read again and again, stolen before he left: her fleshy, laser-licked scars and surgeries. Now what—beautiful? Her labia probably had surgery too. Sandpaper flesh.

8. My mother dead. My daughter now with a stroke. My brother pushed the coma until the end.

7. Can sentimentality breed from such truth? And all within a few years?

6. Fictional Essay!—I didn't see that before.

5. I can't put my words like that. She should tell the truth.

4. We're all getting older, we're all dying off. Marriage still for most. Marriage for their kids. My only hope my Cyclops son—damn that birthday party, the low-lying stick in the woods.

3. I never knew how much the stairs creaked. The walls by the staircase are spider cracking. The wine stain on the top step has blackened with the years.

2. An attempt: Sliver of moon, calls of the owls, slithering snake, call of the hours.

1. If I can get the fireplace working I may burn it.