The Storyteller
BY RACHEL MCKIBBENS
When he finally said, Yes, I did,
I felt my skull turn behind my face,
then my cheeks caved in.
When he said, And that one, too,
it was as if my heart became
a dress two sizes too small.
When he said, Oh yeah, and her,
too many times to count,
I guzzled a mess of poison
and belched up a tiny casket.
When he said the word, Him,
my skull came back around.
When he promised,
But none of them meant a thing.
No one. No one but you,
the baby disappeared,
like house keys.
When he finally said, Yes, I did,
I felt my skull turn behind my face,
then my cheeks caved in.
When he said, And that one, too,
it was as if my heart became
a dress two sizes too small.
When he said, Oh yeah, and her,
too many times to count,
I guzzled a mess of poison
and belched up a tiny casket.
When he said the word, Him,
my skull came back around.
When he promised,
But none of them meant a thing.
No one. No one but you,
the baby disappeared,
like house keys.
RACHEL MCKIBBENS hangs out with her family in upstate New York. She is a New York Foundation For The Arts poetry fellow and total Capricorn. Her poems and short stories have appeared in journals including World Literature Today, 580 Split, The American Poetry Journal, Monkey Bicycle and H_ngm_n. She released her first collection of poetry, Pink Elephant (Cypher Books) in 2009 and is currently working on a memoir.