On the One-Year Anniversary of When my Husband and I Separated by Stefanie Leigh

On the One-Year Anniversary of When my Husband and I Separated

I slipped on the bottom step
at midnight, the wood corner
a jackknife, my wail thrown
as far from my abdomen as
my diamonds from my finger.

For two weeks, I shivered,
the ice packs numbing my ribs,
hip bones. My spine craving
the warmth, tenderness, I used to
dream about for twenty years.

As I laid in bed, stiff, sinking,
I stared at the door frame
imagining old lovers coming in,
the different ways their eyes, hands,
lips, once melted, or stiffened,

my limbs. I looked them up,
remembering dimples, voices. But,
avoided one. The one whose soft gaze
was seared into my cells, my throat
still wanting, always wondering—

I willed myself to sit up, dripped
pills onto my tongue before
wrapping my waist so tight, I
could finally breathe without wincing.
I drove my body to the studio,

my mind already in pointe shoes
as I gripped the barre, my soft tissue
still tender, but the ache gone
back to the spot behind my sternum,
where a scream cannot be heard.

*

Stefanie Leigh is a poet and ballet dancer based in Toronto. She holds a BA from Columbia University and was a dancer with American Ballet Theatre. Her work has been published in Rust & Moth, ONE ART, SWWIM, The Inflectionist Review and elsewhere. She can be found on Instagram @iamstefanieleigh