Название: The Bad Wife Handbook
Автор: Rachel Zucker
Издательство: Ingram
Жанр: Поэзия
Серия: Wesleyan Poetry Series
isbn: 9780819576118
isbn:
His v-neck suggests—
The bruised way he sits—
What to do with his lips—
Hermeneutic
The sea is supposed to be something
more than a saline menagerie.
I thought to be full of feeling
rather than with child was
mutable, could stay small, but now I’m
desolate, fleeting, pierced with this blunt
fissure. My babies left a narrow passage
where longing festers. And here he entered.
Brutal shunt, my heart fills
with sea water. Involuntary muscles
seize, shudder, refuse to scar.
The Tell
The basketball makes him not my husband
and saying so in poems makes me
the bad wife. Where is the private, i.e., impassive
mask I purchased for my wedding
but then forgot to wear?
My mind wrote me a letter requesting to be
left out of it. My body sent flowers
and a note: “sorry for your loss.”
But both paid to see the flop and stayed in ’til the river.
Better to fold the winning hand than fall in love with your cards, says the husband.
Where I Went Instead of Paris
In the city, out windows, I fit his face
onto the faces of other men and boys
and look away before it fades.
I have learned to fly by running fast,
though the waking body won’t comply.
His face is the face of all men
not my husband; I see him everywhere.
In the next dream I shave my head
and find my skull misshapen. In the next dream
I am raped in the elevator. The doorman
steps over my body. He has your face.
Wife, Wife, Duck
I’m not sure what this could be called “doubt”
but that’s too simple these clouds: grayer than white
(the white sky behind) like the sky at evening.
To wish the best for someone
I love might mean leaving
or leaving him alone. To wish for
him. Wish for him to—
It looks like rain means it’s not raining.
It Took 24 Hours to Make the Moon
I forgot to think of him today.
Made of carbon, oxygen, calcium: you, him, I, stars.
When a Mars-like body and Earth collided
within hours was a protoplanet named Moon
and a planet moved away.
For days
I forget.
Mantle, core, ocean, air, I
am made of our
—air, air, air and air—
carved-out crater of impact.
Alluvial
They say God’s voice in the city
sounds like a man but in the desert
sounds like a woman. His voice, the spine
of nighttime, sounds like water.
Rock grazed by streamlets long enough
will sunder. One word against my sternum and
I unzip.
Monogamist
I’ve fallen ________ with him, stupid
cliché, with his dark blue
officewear. Maybe
I just love my little boy too much—he
looks like him—itself a grievous treason.
Just ask my older son. Ask
the husband. Ask anyone. Ask
the language for one decent synonym
and watch it stutter: perseveration,
obsession, attention to detail
aren’t love exactly nor is
chastity enough punishment.
My Beautiful Wickedness
Someone dropped a house on me
and stole my blood shoes.
The girl with her skipping and singing
comes to kill me. What then will become
of my spells, sole treasure I possess?
What I see when what I see
is not there—I know he feels it.
Looking at him like this
isn’t a spell to make him
love anyone
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