The Museum of Broken Relationships

Of course bears, wedding dresses,

letters for Johns. But also the axe

with butchered bed. The vet’s

prosthetic leg. In Sarajevo, Belgrade,

Berlin, they’ve harbored relics

of soured affairs, sent thousands

touring through loves gone bust:

the Murano glass horse (later

the divorce), the garden gnome

(thrown by the spurned). Here,

you’d think empathy would rise

easy as desire, for who hasn’t felt

the ground’s cold smack, the ache

of the mornings after? Yet love

folds like laundry, the same story

over and over. The woman who gave

the box made of matches may be

hand in hand with another man.

The man who gave the bowl may

be kneading bread for his new wife.

In the end, there’s no marvel

in how we suffer, only in how

we build skyscrapers out of rubble.

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