"I Will Leave You in Possession of the Field"

ELISE PASCHEN

VOIR DIRE

When he phoned the next morning from another state,

saying that, after our dance,

after my exit, in full view of all the guests,

the waiters at long tables

of open bars, she lunged at him, tearing his tux,

his dress shirt, scratching his chest,

drawing blood with her nails, demanding a response:

"Why can't you love only me?"

wasn't he describing me, our drama: our act,

our scene? But last night I was

the other woman, catching his eye, pulling him

close, soaked in his favorite scent,

poured into the tight dress, finally premiering

a cameo role, complete

with the mysterious extra man, his arm snug

as a stole across my back.

Still holding the telephone I thought of my case,

how I was called for jury

duty, the charge: Harrassment and Assault. I couldn't

answer, but only could wait

for the coins to stop dropping, the sentence to end,

the blood to dry, the buttons

sewn back, and the tux left off at the dry cleaners,

pretending our history

was an invention and what justice lay in store

could serve only those waiting

for the sentence to be handed down in the end.

Structure

29 lines · 6 stanzas