Poem on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown

by KATHLEEN BALMA

for Almodóvar

In my favorite movie a woman lights a fire in her bed after trying all day to find her married lover, to tell him she is pregnant. Now I know what you’re thinking: the fire is a metaphor for passion, but that’s not really what I mean. What I mean is that I like the idea of a fire, a real fire, being lit in someone’s bed who has been trying all day to find her married lover and tell him she is pregnant, but who instead keeps finding her lover’s wife, and ends up with no lover, no bed, and no abortion. This flaming bed comes to her at a time in her life when a flaming bed is the least absurd thing that could happen, so she does what anyone would do. She stands there coughing like an idiot, then goes back to the kitchen. I like to imagine in that moment of standing that she is thinking about her bed, wondering if it’s ever been quite that hot before and if so, when? I imagine she looks at her sunny fire and sees herself reflected there, as in an orange mirror, then remembers all her really good sex happened somewhere else. The roof! she thinks, and turns for the door just in time for all those sexy firemen to burst in like flames and rescue her. Because she still has that fantasy of being rescued, and despite what people think it’s really not that overrated, especially not when you’re covered in smoke and firemen.

KATHLEEN BALMA is a Fulbright Fellow and graduate of Indiana University’s MFA program. Her work has appeared in Crab Orchard Review, Mid-American Review, Good Foot, Chiron Review, and Suss: Another Literary Journal. She currently teaches Spanish in Connecticut.