when your ex-girlfriend's sister corners you in the kitchen
BY MARTY MCCONNELL
do not scream fire or slam the oven door
on your hand. the empty wine bottles
by the trash only seem to be rattling.
the teapot is not actually screeching
like a rape whistle. yes, you are caught
between the window and the fridge,
drinkless. yes, she wants to know
what your queer status is. and yes,
the kitchen door did just shiver
on its hinges. no, that didn't
happen. are those carolers
at the door? or just the broken stereo.
what is she saying? in the next room,
your somewhat husband tosses back
another vodka and laughs. you can hear
the glass bottle clink against the glass,
can hear a garage door open down
the block, hear the neighbor's children
turning in their beds. a woman in front of you
is breathing impatiently. she is angry.
the crumbs on the counter scramble
into an arrow pointing to the door,
the door under which your ex-
girlfriend's husband's Irish tongue slides
and kittens across the floor toward
the woman's solid, khaki-covered ankles
and you say what? and she says many
things about privilege and moving
through the world like a straight
girl and confusing students with your
loose-fitting definitions and when you say
weren't you married? like, to a dude? she says
yes. but I never went back. you have
to choose. and you can hear
the filaments in the ceiling fixture
sizzle. the glue under the linoleum starting
to bubble. all the liquor in the house is in
the other room and your mouth is a desert
with a side of sand, you are stranded
on the moon with a woman who thinks
you can make the atmosphere breathable
just by believing it, or rather you
are on the moon and she's back
in the spaceship telling you to take
off your helmet, the weather's beautiful
from where she's standing. really,
you should go ahead and try it.
do not scream fire or slam the oven door
on your hand. the empty wine bottles
by the trash only seem to be rattling.
the teapot is not actually screeching
like a rape whistle. yes, you are caught
between the window and the fridge,
drinkless. yes, she wants to know
what your queer status is. and yes,
the kitchen door did just shiver
on its hinges. no, that didn't
happen. are those carolers
at the door? or just the broken stereo.
what is she saying? in the next room,
your somewhat husband tosses back
another vodka and laughs. you can hear
the glass bottle clink against the glass,
can hear a garage door open down
the block, hear the neighbor's children
turning in their beds. a woman in front of you
is breathing impatiently. she is angry.
the crumbs on the counter scramble
into an arrow pointing to the door,
the door under which your ex-
girlfriend's husband's Irish tongue slides
and kittens across the floor toward
the woman's solid, khaki-covered ankles
and you say what? and she says many
things about privilege and moving
through the world like a straight
girl and confusing students with your
loose-fitting definitions and when you say
weren't you married? like, to a dude? she says
yes. but I never went back. you have
to choose. and you can hear
the filaments in the ceiling fixture
sizzle. the glue under the linoleum starting
to bubble. all the liquor in the house is in
the other room and your mouth is a desert
with a side of sand, you are stranded
on the moon with a woman who thinks
you can make the atmosphere breathable
just by believing it, or rather you
are on the moon and she's back
in the spaceship telling you to take
off your helmet, the weather's beautiful
from where she's standing. really,
you should go ahead and try it.
Marty McConnell’s work has been published in numerous anthologies and journals including A Face to Meet the Faces: An Anthology of Contemporary Persona Poetry, City of the Big Shoulders: An Anthology of Chicago Poetry, Indiana Review, Crab Orchard, Salt Hill Review, Beloit Poetry Journal, Drunken Boat, Muzzle Magazine, Rattle, Rattapallax, Booth Magazine, Fourteen Hills, Thirteenth Moon, Boxcar Poetry Review, Pedestal, 2River View, and Qarrtsiluni. She received her MFA from Sarah Lawrence College and has been a featured reader at numerous literary festivals including the Geraldine R. Dodge Poetry Festival, Connecticut Poetry Festival, and the Palm Beach Poetry Festival. After ten years in New York City, during which she co-founded literary nonprofit the louderARTS Project and co-curated its renowned weekly reading series, she returned to Chicago in 2009 to establish its sister organization, Vox Ferus, through which she runs a bi-monthly poetry workshop series.