After the divorce, she tries on resilience: carves a spare key and slips it under the doormat, hides the original in a box of sewing needles (swigs one bottle of Barbaresco). She meditates on luring a Blue Morpho with sugar water and a Swarovski compact mirror, imagines its larvae cocooning then splitting iridescent over raw sienna. She wants to bake coffee tortoni in a silk chemise, pelican-white, soft as cocoa. At dusk, she parades naked through hallways, marches to the muffled tune of a warbler's egg. She can afford to keep up charades, light paper lanterns in the tub, open the drain, watch something spin without ever feeling faint. At three a.m., she calls her mother, tells her it's the candlelight that's been missing.









Elizabeth Bruno is a recent graduate of the University of Wisconsin-Parkside where she received a B.A. in English with a writing concentration. She will begin graduate work in 2009. She lives and works in Wisconsin. Her poems have previously appeared or are forthcoming in various publications, including The Adirondack Review, Stirring, Eclectica, Wicked Alice, and Shakespeare's Monkey Review.

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