Eleanor Stanford
My Husband and My Lover Having a Beer Together
I cut oranges for my sons’ snack. Line up the bright wedges on a plate. I wash the knife. Heat oil in a pan, burn the popcorn at the bottom. I ask them about school, feel my teeth teeter on the hard kernels. I try not to think about the pale blue of your collar. The thick glass. The bitter ale. Someone played basketball in gym, someone hates math, someone went to the nurse with a scraped knee. Later, when the children are in bed, I sit on the floor of the kitchen. My cheek still tender where your stubble rubbed it. What did you talk about, I ask my husband. He is standing by the sink, drinking water. Metaphysics, he says. His cup an actual entity, solid and clear in his hand. My cheek a splotched map of possible worlds.
Eleanor Stanford is the author of three books of poetry, The Imaginal Marriage, Bartram's Garden, and The Book of Sleep, all from Carnegie Mellon University Press. Her work has appeared in The Kenyon Review, The Iowa Review, Ploughshares, and many others. She lives in the Philadelphia area.