Offerings

The rain is wet. There is little else to think about. With my cheek against the windowpane, I slink to the marsh and let my skin go slimy. You wouldn’t dare touch me. 

Today, I have woken up in a woman’s body. I have yet to learn to use it. I squatted in front of the mirror, heels to the ground, and noted the soft flesh that coats my belly and my thighs. At these times, you must treat memory as a venereal disease. The decisions of the day must crosshatch until unreadable. 

I think the mud would be milk-sweet. 

There isn’t much to cast off today, no plans to shake loose from. I find guilt in this. You sigh against the doorframe, a bent lily-of-the-valley, and traipse into the billowing day. My man. With your gilded arms. I am left to curdle in this light.

You hate to see me drag my feet around the garden, upturn hollyhocks, chew torn mint. I see your pleasure, pressing bills into the butcher’s palm; that is all there is for you. I haven’t the faintest clue of the price of meat. You must yield to the lamb’s offer—his tongue weighed in ounces. 

Studying my fingers, something squirms beneath the nails. The memory of earthworms pinched between thumb and forefinger. This was when a girl learned cruelty. When a boy’s eyes lit up. Rain crashed down with that inheritance; my wet hair clamped my scalp. Now, days drip by and who am I to distinguish them? I am still orbiting the day I found a pale blue robin’s egg, the length of half my pinky finger. Enough pressure from my nail and it collapsed. I must turn away, leave it to rot in the weeds. An addled treasure.

I wish I could love you with a spaniel’s eyes, press my drooling maw into your lap. This would mean I’ll bring you anything. I run, only so you will find me. Muscles taut as I race through the fields, bury my treasures beneath Cleeve Hill.

Sitting here, I am teetering on cracked ceramic, on the cabinet door that never quite shuts right. The dust has been allowed to creep in. I am circling the edge—razor sharp. Touch me, while I’m still viscous and yielding. Be coddled by sunlight. Watch the robins flock to the eaves. 

You return, wipe your boots, measure me in your gaze. The slight crunch of a shell on the threshold. You find me cellular. Only offer me your mouth, a glass of water. Use the rough hands of the butcher. Turn your day over to my palms. Beget a body worth living in.