Page 90 - TheBridge_Vol16

AFTERTASTE

Kathryn Robenhymer

Wintergreen mints don’t compensate
for duck fat fries and metallic homebrews and
our last pillow talk plays back through static
like a rain stick, innards shifting, sifting
side to side he broke me ever so lovely
with the hammer I gave when requested, never
understanding why it was necessary as
piggy banks have holes in the bottom anyways
I’m spent like coins in an arcade
$21.75 on a yoyo and a pixie stick,
quarter after quarter, spending becomes
just as mechanical as the game itself
roll after roll there's no taking it slow
more accurately, I’m telling myself
for trusting cruise control
because it's easier to accept
what you're used to, like the kind-of
love that reminds you how much
naproxen costs, notices when you've put on
weight and leaves before the final bow
because he's seen your part and that's all
he's obligated to see because you've come to
know yourself in the confines of his space,
learned how to stretch in it so you're not
too cramped to walk through another day,
anything more would leave you uncontained
you'd turn from solid to dissipated,
unstable like a scarecrow without a post
any other kind of affection is tainted
with a bit of uncertainty, uncomfortable
because you'll never know yourself as more
than the object of the love that taught you
how to wash your hands.

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