by Jaclyn Desforges
I know you, he says, and he’s wrong.
Somewhere inside her there is a forest
and in the forest there is a meadow
and in the meadow there is a cottage
and in the cottage she’s peeling potatoes
and boiling water for soup.
Confident of her whereabouts in a way
only a man can be confident,
he’s two towns over at the abandoned church
pounding on the door.
This poem was originally published by Cathexis Northwest Press in their November 2018 issue.