Abriana Jette
DROUGHT
A twenty-two year old asks why I care
so much about what my husband eats.
Nine nights since he entered me,
ten mornings. What is he doing?
Are his nubby knuckles wrapping around
the soft skin of his dick? I bet
not. Probably he is watching television,
smoking a joint on the couch. Guess what?
I left him for the week to spend evenings with other
other whatever other it is
when you think
of something other than anything other. This week, I live
in the valley. Last night
I dreamt of a man who wasn’t him. We watched
one another from across the room.
He was not someone I knew
from the neighborhood or work or school though
I felt my lips met his before. Skin cinnamon scented.
That pining intensity stayed
with me until morning. Even then. The throb. I wanted
to sink my teeth
into his shoulders. I wanted him to spin
me around. You know the way it is
with dreams. Obscure familiarity of lust:
how much our own projections,
how much to trust? In my nightmares
my father lives
on the outskirts of town and hides out
because that’s the type of life he thinks
he deserves. His carpet brown fridge empty.
He doesn’t want to talk
to me, but will if I
offer to buy him a drink. In the valley
sun sinks behind my window. Coyotes howl
me to sleep. I am the type of woman who leaves
for other things. I sleep in the valley
and the valley is thirsty. Rain a distant cousin.
We burn in the valley
and the valley is thirsty.
Dry, stale air since I arrived. I sleep in the valley.
The valley is thirsty.
In my nightmares, my father is alive.
WIDENED IN CONTROL
Some women I know file for divorce and feel immediately free,
reemerged, rebirthed, burdenless.
Will it be like that for me?
I’ve still hardly filed, hardly walked away.
I hardly find any joy in destroying all I made.
One minute I sink, the next I love on my daughter
as she builds blocks. Boil water
for dinner. Take care of things.
When the sun packs in
I listen to love songs alone grade papers
wait for a savior
or sign on what I should do next with my life.
Nothing comes so I do nothing until
nothing is what I can no longer take.
Any cycle is difficult to break.
I’m too sad to drink
because then all I do is think
of what a failure of a wife I’ve been—
Couldn’t even get that right
I start to say and I don’t want to say
that again. Self-control, it’s called.
Control means knowing you can’t always
have it all, not knowing where the next
day will go but saying still I will do it
I will do it even though I do not know.
That’s how I imagine I’ll feel once I’ve
let go: widened in control.
BECAUSE I DID NOT YET WANT A BABY
because i did not yet want a baby a baby to me was given
story of my life have what you want but not when you need it
not when its convenient have a father for a while but not when
you need him to tell you do not marry that man do not pick
up that bag do not do not do not but i did made a good mess
of it too kid included looked at everything around me considered
the consequences worth it either that or thought my life worthless
unworthy uncertain worsening in need of something different
why couldn’t i just say no thank you why did i think i could have
you without screwing you up divorce is tough but even more rough
with a four year old around to explain it to hide it from share
it with why didn’t i knowing what would happen to us
save us from happening oh! what of all we could prevent
(is that question or regret?)