In the Museum of Broken Relationships
there is a living diorama
a real and breathing spinster in bloom
coated in cat hair and cynicism.
Watch, as she cooks dinner for one and eats it over the sink.
Be amazed, as she ages alone save of course the cat
(who is just as cantankerous as she).
Behold, how she drinks bourbon straight from the bottle
because it offers her a mouth to kiss.
Witness, how she weeps until she dissolves
and then wakes up to rebuild herself
one salt grain at a time the next morning.
Observe, the cavernous sigh as she realizes it will all have to be done
again
and again
and again …
See the actual butterflies from her very stomach
which once danced with possibility
pinned by their wings.
Feast your eyes, on this true human rest stop.
A motel that dreamed once of becoming a home
silly temporary thing with soap-sliver hands
and a body/a bed that held lovers as though
they might actually stay.