Perpetual Honeymoon

Amy Gerstler

Mother promised I wouldn't feel homesick
this trip. She crossed her heart. But her
vows don't matter anymore. My bridegroom
snores on the train. I want him to love
me always. The luggage rack rattles. His
head rocks side to side, looks lifeless,
but I won't panic and wake him. I'll think
about my wedding, those moments I remember:
guests' hair sequined with confetti, my
sweet niece singing hymns, her eyebrows
plucked thin as italics. Then waltzing
couples cleared us a path. The ladies'
jewelry glittered like lights along a pier.
I entered the bridal suite on the stroke
of twelve, draped over my husband's arm,
next to his light suit jacket. There were
foil wrapped chocolates on our pillows.
Not a soul heard me call out, felled by
his soft karate. The phrase "Flight from
Egypt" popped into my head while I focused
my eyes on the whitewashed ceiling. Perhaps
the pastor said it, or I opened the blue
book at bedside to the verse where exiled
Israelites begin forgetting their ancestors.
It's a sad passage. Strange sights stuck
in my mind superimpose themselves over
rustic greenery blurring by: his dilated
eyes at night as he snips my panties with
nail scissors; and a photo of a drowned
girl, her limbs landed gracefully, as if
she'd planned it that way.


Links Atticus Books Richard Peabody Mondo Lucinda Ebersole Gargoyle Magazine Online Catalog Paycock Press Use this image map to navigate our site

| Paycock | Catalog | Gargoyle | Lucinda | Mondo | Richard | Atticus | Links