Saturnalia

Don’t you fucking look at me like I’m speaking in tongues
when I am using words to describe you that you don’t like.
We stand in my kitchen, shoulders squared off.
You won’t meet my eyes;
and I could claw your face off but I bit my nails down
so I’m reduced to words. Cheap, cheating, liar.
Standing in my kitchen like your body has a right to the space.
Like somehow this house is yours, this whole city is yours, from the lake
to the Motel 6 in Brecksville where you took her.
I know you fucked her.
I know you fucked her.
I like that you had to drive that far south to feel safe.

Elaine Schleiffer is a writer and poet living in Cleveland, OH. Her work has been published in or is forthcoming in Stylus, Ultraviolet’s Purple Poetry Journal, and Pudding Magazine.

Advertisements
This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s