I walked barefoot across the floor,
Suka trailing behind me.
Another song from my playlist hits
in this cazimi.
I look at my sweet girl and ask
if she would like to be sung to.
I could make you smile.
She wags her tail,
and as I raise my head,
I am transported.
Nearly twenty years pass,
and when I look down,
the floor is plastic—
pale and sticky.
I am in a kitchen,
and I can hear someone singing:
Help you dress yourself up fancy.
I look up at him,
holding his gaze.
And bathe you when you get sore.
It’s me.
In love.
I’ll be good, I think I could.
My eyes are transfixed on his—
oceans.
Be all you could want
and more and more.
I was begging.
Be proud when you dazzle the wanderers.
He was smiling
while I was begging.
Glitter your eyes for the town.
I didn’t even notice
that I was drowning.
And I would have gladly drowned.
Tell every last boy that you’re my man.
For that love,
I was suffocating—
willingly devoured
by insects,
so long as I stayed
his.
I could feel the roaches crawling.
The bedbugs.
Till the siren comes calling, calling.
Then,
I am in the kitchen.
It’s driving me evil, evil.
I am sitting across from my father,
my mother beside me.
—I called myself evil?
I wasn’t evi—
Momma was a heartbreaker,
loved you the same way I do,
but I got so much wickedness and sin.
I was a child when my mother told me
about her beauty-pageant days,
about how she had boys lined up
but only wanted my father.
I love you the best way I know how.
She told me recently
how she had always blamed herself
for everything,
how she never believed
she was worth anything,
how she had never loved herself.
When the stars are exploding in your eyes.
I told them, in that kitchen,
that a man had stolen what was mine.
No, it won’t be long until you’re running.
And he wasn’t the first.
No, it won’t be long until you’re running.
I looked into my father’s eyes
and told him
this happened to me
when I was a child.
No, it won’t be long until you’re running.
His eyes filled with tears
as my mother’s face filled with anger.
That is because no man is like your father.
My eyes rose.
My mother’s eyes rose.
’Cause I’m evil.
He has never touched a woman like that.
Never?
Well, my father said, we’re mar—
So it was okay
because you were married.
It was okay for him
because I was family,
because he allowed his friends to,
because who would believe her,
because I was blacked-out drunk,
because I reminded you
of your ex-wife.
’Cause I’m evil.
I’m sorry.
My father swallowed his words.
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry.
Oh, babe,
I hear the blond boy tell me
as he gently touches my face.
You’re not evil.
Then, maybe a year later,
he tells me
that anyone in his position
would have dumped me
ages ago.
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry.
I break up with him
and tell him:
It’s me.
I had moved on.
I had my reasons.
And for years,
I believed
that it had been me.
For years,
the people who loved me
told me it hadn’t been,
until I told them:
No.
It genuinely was.
He had put up with too much.
I was too much.
And I am
so sorry.
I let you believe
you weren’t worthy of love.
I accepted this—
as proof against myself.
I begged.
I’m sorry I let you believe
those horrible words you heard.
I made excuses for them.
I’m sorry I let you believe
this was the truth
because of the evil
that was done to you,
because of the blame
your mother placed on you,
because of things
beyond your control.
I’m sorry I let you believe it.
I’m sorry I almost took you
from this plane
time and time again,
finding ease in
Ophelia,
Anna,
Lavinia,
Sylvia—
thinking you were unworthy
of joy,
of living,
of breathing,
of simply touching rain.
I’m so sorry.
I didn’t listen to you.
I’m sorry.
fa mnypquasuca.
Fa, mue zemistysuca.
You are stars exploding.
I love you.
Author’s note: This poem interweaves lyrics from “Siren Song” by Bat for Lashes.