Divorce Is No Poem

There’s no poem hidden inside today.
I’ve looked in all the regular places,
deep into candles lit before dawn.
Nothing.
I’ll build one anyway—
Proving I’m just as selfish as he said.
So here’s a poem shaped from heavy gray air
in a cold marble courthouse
where lawyers step in to deliver
something else I can’t make on my own.
The only prize is no poem,
just a pair of scissors
wielded by a serious-faced judge
with the awful job
of helping me cut this snarled tie.