Notes on Your Ex-Girlfriend
She lived a mass-produced life,
then she died. I hated her
for her live, laugh, love poster.
Her perfume reeked of the patriarchy.
I don’t mean to be a catty bitch,
but it was such a dream,
the way she misspelled nuclear
with a k, which was a soliloquy
for our own dilapidated love
triangle. I heard she downed
your love like a jello shot, neon green,
then threw you up in the backyard,
all flaccid and sugar-free.
In our soul contract
she & I can be seen holding hands
in a Bed, Bath & Beyond.
I’m not saying that my stomach
is somehow stronger than hers,
but I do know when to chew,
and when to swallow. Do you
know what it’s like to be as free
as a cockroach, built
to survive nuclear war? To have
puke, fresh and wet, stuck
to your cleavage, and yet still
reach up, begging
to be kissed?
Karina Jutzi is a published playwright, poet, and essayist. She runs a ritual healing business and is training to become a Death Doula.
Beaver Magazine 