January 14, 2022
We play house under her bed.
We hang sheets from the twin bed
posts to create an attic.
She lies beneath the bed and I above
and talk about our dreams. Sarah,
the black maid, vacuums outside.
Kim’s dream includes a maid, mine doesn’t.
There is no help in my house at home,
no help at all.
January 13, 2022
Ethan said we should curtain the windows and barricade the doors, and so we told each other we loved each other with every breath, as we knew to do/ as we had always done. I love you/ok I love you/ok goodnight.
Boys were always preparing that way. They knew where to hide the artillery and which cans to store and what soaps to buy and when and why it would happen.
January 12, 2022
He says “yeah, take that dick” like it’s not attached to him, as if the deeper it goes into my body, the farther it gets away from his. This is how I know he doesn’t love himself: no connection. He sees himself separate from “that dick” which makes my hole open and close like a camera shutter, taking snapshots of his denial. He won’t acknowledge it’s him who hurts me.
January 11, 2022
Apple Picking Season
I’m finished with my apple.
The mealy flesh still in my teeth
The core before me
as insignificant as a business card.
Casual birth of civilization
millions of rinds and peels and seeds, egging me on.
There are three more apples in the bowl
and I can’t remember if they’re different varieties.