Same Page

Yesterday, I burned my hand,
and you got Shakespeare in the divorce
which feels unfair.

You were beautiful in your knowingness—the
sense that you already knew my secrets, but even more
that I knew yours—

a greenish gold shimmering
the good kind of ache, the hero of
our story.

For a few glorious moments,
we read the same pages.
But once you know of Leda, Zeus

never looks the same.
He forever carries with him a bit of swan—
which has always seemed to me a snake.

Andi Myles is a Washington DC area science writer by day, poet in the in between times. Her favorite space is the fine line between essay and poetry. Her work has appeared in Tahoma Literary Review, Alligator Juniper, and Beyond Words, among others.