original [sin]
In ancient Greece, for all her heroes, for Medea ... water meant death.
— Jesmyn Ward, Salvage the Bones
i poured a bowl of cereal,
threw the empty box in the
trash can. granddaddy pulled
the box from the trash,
poured the crumbs into a
bowl, then doused the sand
in milk. he looked down at the
bowl, murmuring about how
he had survived the depression. told
a story about asking for hot water
at colored diners, how he would
pour ketchup in cups to make soup.
this was how
i first learned i am
wasteful.
•
i would stand in the bathroom
with my mother. would ask her
why the water in the bowl was
red. she would tell me she
had eaten beets. i suppose
i was too young to learn
the truth, milkflowers
spill petals red.
•
in my catholic school of fish,
we took a beautifully wrapped box,
passed it around the class,
unwrapping it piece by piece.
afterwards it was cleverly
explained that the box is
a girl’s virginity
the gift we give our husbands.
& who wants a toy that has
already been opened? half
the joy is in untying the string.
this is how i was taught
that at my very core, i am
ungrateful.
•
i met someone recently,
in an irish bar, who told me
it’s about knowing what i need.
he said later
what you need
is a wife.
that night i prayed to god for just a man
and not a man that trails the woe
& maybe this is why god serves me
wakes of milkman and tea cake
a lip service of sorts
at hand.
•
maybe this is how i end up
throwing good things away:
phd
husband
stepdaughter
stepson
a little tiny baby
unborn
locked them all in flooding
house with tearful grin.
this is how you
come to know you are
unclean.
•
at times i smell of rain,
blouse damp with the
cloud’s breast milk,
this stomach a
sloshing bowl of
watery swish.
i curse the phantom belly
moon, can still hear the
sound of you in still water.
the wind begins to push
a heavy rain, drops spill from
every crevice of the flower.
& then suddenly,
the rain begins to pour.
it always all ways
asks for forgiveness.
a ghost kneels in me,
asks to be spared.