Poetry By Bree Bailey

John Buie CC



Read it Again and Again, a Divorce Duplex

No one who gets a divorce wants a divorce,
like no one wakes up craving a car crash for dinner.

No one wakes with an appetite for a car crash dinner,
but some of us live rattling death wishes anyway.

Some of us race toward death wishes anyway,
ripping mental photos in half, replacing green eyes with apathy.

Ripping the wedding photos, replace moss with apathy,
a gut cringe when your hand’s gravity stumbled in my hair.

A cringe when your gravity grip stumbled in my hair,
and patience gave way into nightstand annoyance.

Patience, thin, with mounting nightstand annoyance;
I’d kill more idols before I’d ask you to stay.

I’d kiss more idols before I’d ask you to stay.
Can I teleport back to before we were bruised?

Can I teleport back to before we became bruised?
Or sell the tickets to yesterday’s blissful illusions.

Sell out tickets to yesterday’s blissful illusions.
If you wanted a reaction, you could’ve done better.

If you wanted a reaction, you could’ve done better
than becoming an allergy on the other side of my door.

An allergy I refuse to endure. Your bad habit grin at the door,
the Bible jutting from your jaw like martyrdom.

The Bible jutting from your lying jowls like martyrdom,
our wayside love, a toppled wedding cake fixture, depreciates.

Like a crumbling slice of cake, frozen love depreciating,
no one who gets a divorce wants a divorce.

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Bree Bailey (she/her) is a queer Latine poet, and Jersey native now in southern Austin, TX. She writes with heart and humor about mental health, love, and resilience. A former educator and 2023 Write Bloody Jack McCarthy Prize winner, her debut collection, Wailing on Whisper Street, is available wherever you buy books and will be re-released on October 9,2026 with a second edition. Catch Bree on tour in your city or follow @breebaileypoetry or visit breebaileypoetry.com.
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