"She opens like a wound" in Santa Clara Review

She opens like a wound

to tell me her husband was once unfaithful. 

They weren’t on the same page, 

he jiving to her jag.

Mouth sutured shut, 

I think of my marriage. 

How sometimes we’re upside down, 

held by our ankles, loose change 

falling from our pockets. Quarters, dimes 

dint like rain on a metal roof. 

Then just like that, we’re righted, pockets jangling. 

She bleeds on about her children. 

I see them tall and wooden—soldiers 

standing sentinel by the fire 

as less-crafted brothers burn. 

My ears perk at sex. 

Sex with her husband she is saying, 

how it’s better post affair. 

She wonders (biting her lower lip, blood 

disappearing, reappearing)

if he learned something new from the other woman. 

I see her husband down on his knees 

between mine. My mouth 

stitched into silence. 

She pauses to paint her sliced mouth 

blood red. 

I pull the thread from mine.