The wedding took eleven minutes to divide.

The rain took three days.

Memory court was not as scary as people said it was. Nobody ever shouted, “You ruined me!” while pointing an accusatory finger at their former spouse. It was a quiet process, largely because the fees attached to emotional escalation were astronomically high.

Your hands were the first thing I noticed about you.
They were calloused but still delicate,
with a tan that reminded me of a graham cracker crust.

Strong hands that could fix a fence post,
or make a damn good breakfast,
or break a heart.

By chance we met, just once that year,
when he walked by me at dawn.
I met his glance, he flashed a smile,
But when I looked up, he was gone