Someone else’s husband packed up and left. Cotton shirts folded in suitcases, the old cufflinks shimmering in a glass dish. Locked boxes, levies on the bank accounts, a row of dresses swinging on their hangers. You can never return to where things aren’t. Which suitcase, which wife, why isn’t he walking faster? The marriage he remembers is buried somewhere in the snow.
Gulf Stream MagazineSouth Florida's Literary Current
Gulf Stream Magazine 