Sylvia and Ted

They met in the dark, drunk
He touched her and she bit his
Cheek so hard he left the room
With blood streaming down his face
And a smile.

He threw rocks at her window until
She agreed to marry him. Then
They tore each other apart.

I read her diary in the dark
Lamplight encircling my feet
I thought suddenly I know her and isn’t that
What we write for?

Her words
Drag you in and swallow upwards
Like a great beast tipping its head back.
Like a tunnel nosing its blind way
Deep through tissue into
Whatever it is that makes the heart move.

The couple nibbled away at each other
While I gnawed on the real life
Fiction spine left behind
I, the bulldog reader on the family rug
Sylvia’s bone-dust on my lips.

Artwork by Yung Cheng Lin