by Kim Addonizio
From The Threepenny Reviews, Winter 2006
feels like such a betrayal: the hurt not denied, not pushed away, but gone entirely for that moment you can't help feeling good in, a moment of sudden, irrational joy over nothing of consequence, really, which makes it all somehow seem even worse. Shouldn't happiness be the result of some grand event, something adequate to counter the aching, gaping chasm that opened when . . . But, no: it's merely this: there goes our little neighbor, running barefoot, no pants, fox stole wrapped around her shoulder.
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