Floor Plan Journal: 3 Poems

What I Brought Her

a three-legged vase
a branch of bittersweet
red leaves in a fan
a knobbed stick
a chocolate bar
then another
my chagrin
the twelve steps typed out
omitting mention of God
a sense of being let down
envy for the spa-like aspects
an understanding of the way drinking became
the job she’d rather do, became the blame
for what we’d done to her, expected of her
my refusal to call it a sickness
two parts anger, one part pity

Different Thread Count

On Park Avenue
in Park Slope
on park benches
in parking lots

“I thought he loved me:

then why did he hide millions from me in the Cayman Islands?”

“I thought he loved me:

then why doesn’t he bring the stroller up the stairs

when he comes back from jogging with the baby?”

“I thought he loved me:

then why didn’t he give me half of his drugs?”

“I thought he loved me:

then why did he leave me here bleeding?”


“I thought she loved me:

she should know by now I have to hit my number.”

“I thought she loved me:

this stroller thing can not be why she’s mad at me!”

“I thought she loved me:

by body weight, I did give her half–a little more.”

“I thought she loved me:

only somebody who loved me would let me touch her at all.”

From three-hundred count crisp Egyptian cotton pima
to polyblend jersey sheets from Target
to a down jacket thrown on the ground.
Different thread count.
Same old story.

Watching Ants

A roiling pile of caviar
on the sidewalk.

Knowing there is no why.

Humans can impute
a reason to any phenomenon

they care to slice out of the whole
wide panoply of things that happen.

This does not mean the reason
they choose has any validity,
any meaning at all.

Your theory is as useless as mine.

They are airing out the nest.
They are engaged in a massive
meet-and-greet on company time.

Who knows?
And the ants can’t tell us.
Ant fire drill? Please.

Similar theories could be
raised about why you’re still

unhappy, your body uninhabitable
despite recent renovations.

The way no matter how many
of your demands are met,
you keep raising the ante.

Link to publication

About the Author

Julie HartOriginally from Minnesota, Julie Hart has lived in London, Zurich, and Tokyo, and now in Brooklyn Heights. Her work can be found in Five Quarterly, Denim Skin, PANK magazine, The Rumpus and forthcoming in Floor Plan Journal.

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