Not having a man in my life now becomes a series of little activities and rituals. I replace men with an array of placeholders. A blank page. Poetry, in translation, rife with awkward, charming metaphors. Reading the funny below-the-line comments that follow a sober article. Girl crushes. The supreme sense of accomplishment derived from preparing a meal just for myself. The mushrooms browning in butter, and for a little time, a sharp smell that reminds me of sex.
