I used to have guts Guts that were scraped Scraped until all the good parts Parts that held seeds were gone Gone and replaced by artificial light Light that illuminated my smile
Smile carved deep into my skin Skin that was starting to harden Harden around my wounds Wounds that were sealed by the cold Cold wouldn’t let me go Go back into the dirt
Dirt was better than the porch Porch meant people People who would point Point me out to their children Children who noticed my emptiness Emptiness that delighted them
“There’s dirt on your boots.” His eyes hardened, brows furrowed. “The guys aren’t even wearing suits.” I poked at rage already burrowed.
“I go out however I want.” That much was true. Every denied request was a taunt. Another way to say fuck you.
“Please. It’s respectful.” He jammed a ratty cap on his head. I thought he was accidentally neglectful. Marry him or leave him for dead?
“Your church is snobby.” He crossed his arms over his chest. Was he difficult as a hobby? Maybe patience was best?
“It’s fine. I’ll fix it.” I scrubbed the boots with a damp rag. Humiliation for love’s sake was my habit. I felt my shoulders sag.
“See? It’s not even a big deal.” I kissed his temple. Romance isn’t real. Marriage isn’t simple.
Two fat bumblebees collided We watched through the glass They made another pass Despite flying lopsided
Corn stalks broke the sod. Defying the searing heat. We accepted seasonal defeat. Protected by AC while we jawed
Hazy blue sky smeared with clouds The muggy air was still. The hills blocked any breeze.
Lullabies of lawn mower sounds. Freshly cut grass meant Advil. But in that moment, I was at ease.
“This is you.” Untethered, almost alive. A brain floating in a jar Preserved in formaldehyde.
“This is what you are.” Every triumph, every issue The human experience distilled To a lump of gray tissue
“Who you are…” A homeless soul Human dignity stripped for parts Body rots in a hole
“And all you’ll be.” Truly unmatched dedication Displayed over and over For higher education
Professor smiles. Proud of his illustration Death’s horrors magnified In scientific commodification
My friends say I could do a lot better than you I wish I’d met you after I was 22 Nothing’s sadder than the unlived life It’s a shame I’ve already met my wife
Why did you say that to me? If you’re unsure, you should leave I’ve always been sure about you. Love doesn’t wear off because the relationship stops being new.
I’m sorry your insecurity makes you upset. If you lost weight, you’d feel better I bet. You know our relationship’s good. I haven’t cheated on you even though I could.
Because you don’t cheat I should be glad? That’s not the only way to make a relationship bad. You’re obsessed with having the hottest girlfriend at the party. You’d throw two years away because of my body?
You’re putting words in my mouth. I knew you’d make this discussion go south. My friends wouldn’t put up with this. Now, this is one thing I wouldn’t miss.
Sometimes we fall in love with ideas Not people we wrap ourselves in the magic of Isms
Conservatism imposing the past on the future Progressivism slaying the past to save us in the Future
Nihilism nothing matters; meaning is chosen Spiritualism we are all connected by various Energies
Socialism everyone shares to stay fed Capitalism everyone should be rich or simply Dead
Communism that college freshman can’t define Anarchism that we lived in at the beginning of Time
Patriotism our citizenship is a mark of pride Buddhism we end all suffering saying no to Wanting
Individualism i am me and you are you Collectivism you and me are we; a partnership of Two
Losing our basic humanity to the chief evil Extremism let’s fall in love with the best thing People
My daughter has eyes like mine-big and brown with a tiny ring of green around the pupil. She has my nose. I’m glad. My husband’s nose would be too big for her little face. Her full lips and darker complexion come from her dad. She watches me, and smiles. Dimples puncture her round cheeks. “I love you.” I tell her, and kiss her golden brown curls. She giggles. I smell baby shampoo. I open my eyes. I look back at my computer monitor. In the cubicle across from me, Courtney rubs her baby bump tenderly. Infertility is a bitch.
