portion of the artwork for Timothy Kercher's poem

Breaking Up
Timothy Kercher

I once left my wife for three years—
she’d been watching the “L Word”
on TV when I left. I went to a hotel in
another country. I got a job at a
brand new school. I came home to
an empty room. I had to fix all my
meals for myself. This went on
long enough. It made me remember
our promise, that there’s for good
with all the for worse. So I returned
after an all-night flight—knocked
on our door, but she did not
answer. I still had the keys so I
tried them. The locks were the same.
I entered and called out my wife’s name.
She did not answer, but as sure as sugar,
she was there in her lounger, watching
the same show as when I’d left. She looked
up when I entered and asked,
“Did you pick up the eggs?” Glancing
at my hands, I realized I had them.
“Put them in the fridge before
you break them,” she said. And so I did.


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FRiGG: A Magazine of Fiction and Poetry | Issue 30 | Fall 2010