Linda Simoni-Wastila

A ∩ B

I think of us as a Venn diagram, two ovals making
union, my yin seeking optimal overlap with your yang.
But north-facing magnets perpetually polarize our
perimeters, every minor interaction implodes into
a push-me-pull-me tug-o-drama – the toothpaste cap
rolling in the bathroom sink, the crusted cans
cluttering the recycle bin, the maxed-out (again)
Visa. Tits-for-tats, our minefields of petty
disgruntlements escalate, words carelessly
scattershot – always, never, fault, hate – leaving
behind crumb trails of unarticulated ultimatums.

But then, we sleep or, perhaps, make love – no,
it’s fucking pure and simple – and we lose ourselves
in the animal noises, the words peel away, and our
amalgamations circle to their singular intersection.

Last Trip

If I had known

the trip to the hospital

was the last time

you would ever be outside

I would not have rushed

you through the rain.


CP

Linda Simoni-Wastila crunches numbers by day and churns words at night. You can find her work in The Sun, Tattoo Highway, Boston Literary Magazine, BluePrint Review, The Shine Journal and elsewhere. She reads other writers' stuff at JMWW. She lives and loves in Baltimore, a town where her Northern birthright and Southern breeding comfortably commingle. She muses at http://linda-leftbrainwrite.blogspot.com.