Remote Viewing

My husband is the man who sings to me

from the in between and the somewhere else

he watches and waits but doesn’t know himself.

When I was six I demanded he appear

thought he was a ghost that spoke out

of the mouths of dolls. By age nineteen

I forgot the man or maybe

just stopped listening and at thirty-four

in a Baltic land of lakes

married a man that wasn’t him

who sang sometimes but in a different tongue.

I could tell by the smell my beloved wasn’t

happy. He hired angels to push me down

the stairs before my wedding day punched me

in the stomach, my fiancé too who told me to

ignore the man who wasn’t there and locked

me in the apartment to go see his mother

for fifteen minutes that lasted ten hours.

She wouldn’t give me the key because we

were always together and she was having

renovations. She did make me jam and

pigeons made of cabbage leaves which

helped my husband transform me into

a zuike.

Unfortunately some planes crashed into

buildings on TV so he let us hop to an

emerald city where I discovered your name

on a box. It felt like fire so I dropped it. Then

accidentally in a dark room I heard your voice.

It sounded like the singing one, the faceless

doll man.

I tried to get my husband interested

but he said you were forbidden and

hit me so hard that I landed in Los Angeles.

I saw you at a couple of parties I didn’t want

to go to. I thought maybe I should talk

to you but your line was busy too long and

I had to use the bathroom or I didn’t want

to be exposed.

So I tried talking to the man who sounds like

you but he ignores me in favor of crows or

maybe it’s you and you don’t want to talk. Now

at night when I visit the in between he wears

your face and when I wake up he’s somewhere

else. Anyway, whoever it is he’s still singing and

won’t give me a divorce.