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There I WasTo Lisa Marie Zaran's previous piece     DiminishingTo Lisa Marie Zaran's next piece

The Terrible Of Some
Suppose you met him
at a church bazaar
rather than a bar.
Or say the end 
of him came
sooner than expected,
like a month into
your courtship
rather than nine years.
Suppose those
two toddlers 
never happened, the one
on your hip, the other
on your hem.
the rough
of his hands
came from carving wood
or building furniture, a working
man's trade instead
of fist fights with
strangers on the street.
Strangers with half the sense
to glance at you, maybe taking
in an eyeful and pissing him off.
Pretend the accident
was just an accident
and not a premeditated
tap of the brakes on such an icy
road so late at night in the pitch
black storm of sky, the clouds so
heady and thick, you couldn't see
the stars the moon or light.

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