the third husband of my mother’s sister likes
to reinforce his yard fence with height
bright white battlements to keep strangers away he says
it’s important to keep strangers away
from your apples he says
you don’t know where they’ve come from which is to say they might be brown he says
you don’t know what unhygienic habits got stuck along the lint in their pockets he says
i just don’t get why men can’t be men which is to say there’s a void between the lines or between the outlines of personhood that he just can’t breach
smelling like gas station beer and his old mother’s love
a pasty membrane spilling over the belt
and a woman with memories of much worse men
who knows the offertory of unconditional love
and bad knees
and still insists on wearing too-high heels because
sweetheart you should really get in shape and knows
even an idiot
can wield a blunt tool or steal
an apple
Written by Sigrid Östenberg.
Cover photo by Kristin O. Karlsen.