CALVING

Published by Bluestem, 2018

From the bone of his pelvis, you know
you brought this on yourself. Your tongue

against his neck tastes like a penny.
Never letting you touch him in daylight,

he yawns, talking about his mother.
You listen and say, sometimes she’s like tight fabric

and other times likes clothes strewn about.
You’re trying to restore his heart,

but with a knife in hand. He measures
the heft of your words—Use plain English!

Only an idiot speaks in riddles.
Now, the aggregate of all his insults tightens

your throat and hissing like the dark
of Norway’s winter, you say, I’m sick

of your ridicule, tired of swallowing rage.
Even though his face tempts you,

you slip out of bed. Feeling the coolness
of marble on bare feet, walk

towards the bathroom and look
in the mirror. There you see the flickering

of blue-white glaciers breaking
and pushing out to sea. You design

an altered escape and decide, without cowering,
to gut the fish from the farmer’s market.