Britt Gambino lives in New York, NY, at the end of the universe (a.k.a. Washington Heights). She graduated from
Drew University in Madison, NJ, where she studied English and creative writing. Britt now works as a managing editor and volunteers with 826 NYC. Her work was recently published on anderbo.com. In her spare time, she enjoys brunch on a Sunday afternoon, making musical compilations, and rearranging furniture with her partner, Trisha,
who has always believed. To read some of Britt’s ramblings, visit her blog at gritsforyou.wordpress.com.
If you want to know how a mistress marriage works, ask a triangle.
If you want to know how we work, ask a circle.
You were once
the sharpest point
in other women’s shapes.
While I walked down Bleecker Street,
they walked up the stairs of your building
to your bed instead of their own.
You undid theorems and equations
like they were bras:
in an instant.
What does a triangle become
after it goes
Does it become the pieces of millions
of lips, hands, breasts?
As if there could ever be justice in geometry.
I balance on the edge of your lines—
Subways you took to the east side,
the bar you worked at, where one of their wives
showed up unannounced,
call boxes with familiar last names.
You said I was the beginning
of an era.
I think to know what that feels like,
I have to dissolve into
one single line.