What blooms in Brazil’s coastal desert.
Eventually, I married a man more than twice my size. He terrified me. Making love felt like getting run over
First, it was his hands. Three days after he announced that he was going to leave me, I watched him drinking his coffee and noticed how his three middle fingers were slipped through the handle, gripping the body of the mug in a confident, almost loving way.
What was I going to do when I saw her? It was a question I had asked myself a thousand times. Slap her? Scream insults? Demand she give my husband back?
He’s mopping at his pelvis with a wadded-up tissue, and then he’s mopping her up as well. Already the backs of her thighs are caking up.
The spark of attraction he felt for Farideh could grow into a steady flame, he was sure now.
It is nowhere near impossible for somebody who loves her husband to also love her co-wife.
And dice (singular, die) can come to rest // in six different attitudes, like a woman, / it means something played, something given.
When thistles spring up in the field / of our marriage, when the noxious vine // twines onto the maple, let us pull it up / by its roots.