I.
I’m introduced as the doctor’s daughter
again, in a heavy plaid dress, white tights, black
leather Mary Jane’s. Plastic bows clipped to keep
my straight hair still. I have a recurring dream
I soar over the steep brick stairs of the house
in one leap; I mistake it for a memory.
It’s easy to think you can fly when you stand
next to this multilingual man
and everyone says you look like him.
He leaves his hand on my head
when the guests arrive. I’m told to leave
the salted cashews in the glass bowl
for company, welcome them with a curtsy.
His ossobuco is legendary, he has a friendly
rivalry with Jean-Carlos who only speaks
two languages. A vanity of admirers
at the dinner party smile their red-wined
teeth and flat glass eyes at me like I’m some
four-foot-three wonder because he told them
I’m his.

II.
A grandiose bouquet of lilies boasting
cupid’s bow pink plumage arrives
at my door; so many I separate them into two
jars of water. She tells friends my standards
are too low: I just offered to buy her
one drink! Hypnotized by her degree in charisma,
I imagine a bedroom splashed with chromatic
curtains. They end up beige, the flowers
have decayed. I wait, wish
she’d rush home early—
She’s out late, tries to explain
networking to me. Happy hours unravel
to 2 am, stumble home, bang a hot
pan making grilled cheese before spilling
into bed. I keep my eyes closed—pretend
I slept through everything. She doesn’t notice
the first time I get waxed. I wonder how
many more times it will take. The intern
gets her own nickname and nervous
giggles. Was she worth it? I leave
with the pictures still on the wall
like there was no time to gather
the most important things.

III.
My mother compliments how skinny I am,
an alley cat, mangey-ribbed; easy
to trap. He only said he wanted me
twice before I was making up reasons
to walk down his street. My skin incandescent
as his dark eyes drip down my legs. He accelerates
over potholes driving my car, talks me into buying
the biggest truck on the lot, breaks both
mirrors trying to park. He quits his job to be
with me and never gets another one.
Says he’ll open a coffee shop, or restaurant,
or bar with go-go drag dancers and vintage goblets
brimming with craft cocktails, or an art gallery
event space pop-up where politicians will pose
for photos with him. My throat a closed red
velvet curtain. His plans are fire in an August field,
heat waves faked an oasis. He wants me
to clap as it burns. He comes in close, touches
my hair, tells me I’m beautiful when I cry
and means it.

IV.
Steam rises from my therapist’s
steeping cup, I step from one broken
paver to the next along the path
beside her home to the garden
office. He has no place to go–
I don’t know how—She is unflappable,
says he’ll figure it out. Shrugs.
Sips her tea. She once talked to me
about sea anemones; silent,
but hyper-reactive— they snap
shut at the slightest touch.
Arms across my belly I reassure her
I don’t want to hurt myself,
I only wish it would happen
by accident. I might trip and fall
into oncoming traffic and never get up.

V.
I dream I’m dropping down a hole
in the earth—like the planet was
punched clean through. I’ve been
encouraged by onlookers to jump.
My chest boa constricts as I fall
—breathing thinned through a straw.
I wake up with my daughter’s open
palm on my arm, and this time
there was no doubt I’d flown.

~