A Letter Melodramatically Entitled Aftermath
Jason Fraley

I sold my king size mattress for $100,

bedsprings still coiled as if supporting our bodies.

Mornings start earlier on my extra long cot,

but I have already boycotted breakfast—

recollections of your eggwhite skin.

Now I have time to consider my open hand

as a transient cavity unsatisfied

with what it can reach.

While stretching, my heart stiffens,

then relaxes, unable to escape between ribs.

I have almost forgotten

if this failure constitutes a beat.