
Tag: Weddings
happiness is
turning my moments
of inspiration
into
stream-of-consciousness
Pinterest sessions
where one may choose
cakes made from edible flowers
lavender lovely
make wedding centerpieces
from hemp rope,
vintage coffee sack burlap,
and the discarded
quilt pieces of the
Daughters of the American Revolution
my poetry waits quietly
in my pocketbook
content in my joy
encouraging me
to be my own woman
a connoisseur of literature
a goddess of wine
Dionysus triumphant
a suburban expatriate
who refuses to put a rug
on her toilet lid
born to a people who do
Winter has been left
at the altar
by Spring
in a Kentucky church
full of faded wood panels
battered hymnals
pews creaking with
suspicious Baptists aghast
carrying tissues
judgment and peppermints
in pocketbooks
bathed in beams
of stained glass light
containing confederate
dust particles descending
certain of
gossiping daffodils
and death
i don’t know
what heaven looks like
but it can’t be far off
from this
i’m so sick
of this marketing campaign
to make marriage and child bearing
seem like the utmost a woman may attain
beyond a degree from college
as if life will be as breezy and pristine
as a morning talk show segment
where they tell you how happy and excited
you should feel over a pretty princess wedding dress
so expensive it could feed a third world county
for a week
and the promise of stainless steel appliances
to follow
yes begin your life indebted
spend thirty grand on the ceremony and reception
spare no expense
as it will be one of the last days you’ll feel pretty
thoughts of how lovely
the bridesmaids looked
and the lemon raspberry cake
will carry you through those moments
of doubt
as you scrub the grass stains out of your loving husband’s socks
and his feces from under the rim of the toilet
while he sits in his recliner
waiting for dinner
feeling trapped
give up the dreams you had
the day you signed up for freshman english
make no mistake
a career comes second
your job is to give life to new consumers
focus on the best diaper pail
to contain your little angel’s shit smell
find the most realistic bottle feeding system
for when your nipples are too cracked and bloody to be suckled
that
should be enough
to feel fulfilled
and pretty please with sugar on top
buy into all the hype about how giving birth
is the most beautiful thing you’ll ever experience
at home or in a hospital
submerged in water
or perched upon
the latest designer
baby crapping equipment
you will feel like the belle of the ball
as you vomit over the bedside
shit and piss yourself as you push push push
and experience the magic
of your flesh ripped apart
from your vagina to your asshole
and as soon as those stitches heal
back on your horse, cowgirl
go back to work because
you’re not a woman if you can’t manage
this domestic three ring circus
leave your baby at a daycare for ten hours a day
you’ll be sure it’s the next best thing
to a baby bonding with its mother
yes, young lady
it will all be perfect
until the first
grade school diagnosis
mistress
mass lay-off
and house fire
makes you question
why you didn’t run away
from the altar screaming
as i write
.
death perpetually sits in
the corner of my room
reading freud’s conceits
.
or when he’s feeling particularly
mischievous
kafka
.
he is an old man now
as our time together is deep
smelling of camphor and whiskey
and cologne deemed a sin during biblical times
.
my constant companion
since the age of six
we have many times shared plastic play set high tea
and brushed barbie hair
forced emily dickinson to eat bugs together
.
death in a doll house
.
he taught me long division
and later how to drive
bustled my prom dress
stood in the empty place
for the father daughter dance
at my halloween horror wedding
then sent me to mortuary college
.
how easily he became
my every electrified motivation
.
i so willingly devoured the
chocolate covered cherries
sugar-coated just for me
.
he has me hooked
on his sick sentimentality
.
luxuriating in the loss
agony so sweet upon the palate
injected into veins long desiccated
living in skin of unnatural colors
.
all i wanted was a mommy in the kitchen
a daddy in the den
children in the treehouse
a reckless devil in hell
and a responsible god in heaven
.
so when it all died
i tried to become it
and i have failed
.
though i have receipts that reflect an attempt at a life lived
spanning the miles between California and New Jersey
.
today
he smiles at me wickedly
with his three good teeth
and says
.
remember baby girl
you will die
in the same place
you began
.
fearing unknown noises in the hall
.
right here
with
me