Domesticity

 

My second relationship looked something like this:

spun from what was left in
the kitchen each night, all fish

and sinnew. He had the largest hands,
butcher-palms, blood under the nails,

and his teeth were white scarecrows
after too many fights. The salt-blue eyes

stared as he forced my head back
into the sink and hair down

into the drain, flipped the switch.

The teeth whirred, and the knives nearby
became birds charading

in children’s clothes. I tilted my head
further back until I could see the sky

through the small window:

the stars were going by in small pools.

 

 

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