C. CHRISTINE FAIR - POEMS
Sita of Suburbia
That afternoon, the sky turned black,
Split open like a fish belly slit.
Poured hail like hapless spawn
That smashed lifeless upon our roof.
Even though I walked through fire for you
Unscathed, your rage was not appeased.
Your hands fluttered about me
Like feeding Coragyps.
Your serrated words
chopped me down, cut me up
Into pieces you could manage
Into voiceless pieces you need not hear
Into impotent slabs you need not fear.
As I surrendered, you turned soft
Immured me with your lanky arms.
Brushed back my tears with your fickle palms,
Pulled back my hair and kissed my scared-frozen neck.
Hissing that you loved me, you
hoisted up my skirt, slammed in and up into my belly.
With a grunt collapsed atop me
with your full dead weight.
Repulsed you withdrew,
and glowered down
Your face became a familiar map of contempt.
Your neck strained as you kicked me furiously.
Torrid tears traced my cheek, then neck,
pooled on the cool floor,
As your fluid slid out.
Weary and wary I begged Mother Earth
to open up and swallow her defeated daughter and bring her home.
Mother Always Asked Uncle Art to Babysit