If by real you mean as real as a shark tooth stuck



in your heel, the wetness of a finished lollipop stick,



the surprise of a thumbtack in your purse—



then Yes, every last page is true, every nuance,



bit, and bite. Wait. I have made them up—all of them—



and when I say I am married, it means I married



all of them, a whole neighborhood of past loves.



Can you imagine the number of bouquets, how many



slices of cake? Even now, my husbands plan a great meal



for us—one chops up some parsley, one stirs a bubbling pot



on the stove. One changes the baby, and one sleeps



in a fat chair. One flips through the newspaper, another



whistles while he shaves in the shower, and every single



one of them wonders what time I am coming home.





