every horror movie has at least one moment of quiet, a maybe-we-can-let-our-guard-down-now scene, a sunrise that seems to end the carnage. trusting it is always a mistake. it’s temporary. even when the birds start chirping again at the end of the film and children return to the playgrounds, the blood bath’s not over. the monsters haven’t gone anywhere. they’re just catching their breath.
with the caveat that my metaphors and poetry tend toward drama (i might argue, actually, that all metaphors do and most poetry at least nods to obsession and intensity), i am going to say that separation and divorce have those scenes in common with horror movies. just when you think it is safe to get back in the water, there’s another attack.
i have been watching with horror (and admittedly a bit of delight over people’s imaginations) media coverage and internet chatter over some recent murders/assaults. today, this article caught my attention: after gory incidents, online zombie talk grows, an AP story published by the albany times union. without diminishing the criminal context of these attacks and the terrible truth that families have lost loved ones, i appreciate the part of our brains that allows for extreme and non-sensical explanations. those leaps have always been important in my writing.
and so we all know that once you are a zombie, you never live again. you are always the undead. until some smart ass who has studied how to kill zombies does you in, you thirst for brains and human flesh. and now we are in the territory of dating, right? wanted: someone with flesh and brains. with that, i have probably terrified my current boyfriend and raised a serious red flag to any future suitors.
so divorce is a horror movie. you “survive” as a zombie. though you continue to write poems under the name of your former human self, they’re not as good as the pre-zombie apocalypse poems. and you date. and you allow boyfriends of the flesh and brains variety. and you wonder: what’s become of my heart? didn’t that used to be important?