Now that she’s left me, I still see her wandering through the house
every night. She’s bigger than she used to be, my little ex-wife,
undernourished and small-boned and she smells a bit like the
morgue. Even though I know she’s not really dead, she’s in LA and
remarried to a college professor.
My ghost wife is sassier than she used to be. Walks around naked
and smiling mysteriously. Says unspeakable things to me in her
native Russian. Sticks her legs in the air and shows off the perfect
arch of her foot and that’s where the ringing in my head starts.
Because there are some things that have no flaws, and it would be
a shame to cut into that gorgeous white thigh, but I want to see it,
that most perfect of veins, vena saphena magna, rich and blue,
running from foot sole to inner thigh all the way up the inside of