Adulthood

Once I was wild. A man made me a mythological beast. Krishna’s touch turned me into Kali. I would conjure the seas with my womb and move the earth when I came. I screamed and raged and did not care who saw. My most free was that year and half when I cried from being crazy. He brought out those parts of the spirit that don’t just live on the surface. The hurt from loving such a force of nature was worse than when First Love took his hand to Youth’s face, made me say See, you finally did it. It finally happened. I knew this was coming.

I saw Lulio coming from half a block away. Eyes remained locked as we passed, heads turned as we walked away from what pulled us. It was too much and bodies turned with heads, stood close against the crowd of Elm Street so that we smelled the drink of each other’s breath with our words. The dark of the morning does not bring you the man who will leave his shoes in your home.

Whiskey and shiner was our therapy. Sometimes I was lucky enough for him to make the drive to my apartment. We usually fucked in my van or his truck after he’d been on stage making me feel holy among the other women. Deep Ellum was our home but it was Greenville where we lost ourselves entirely. The walls of his little Ford couldn't hold us so we moved to the hardness of the cab. I took opened to him with metal bruising the skin of my back and stars blessing us with their smiles. I heard people laughing in the distance. Still, we were confined. Moved to sidewalk where I stood braced against the door and took him in from behind. But how beautiful was the grass? I pulled him down into someone’s front yard. The perfect, family neighborhood behind the bars was where God seeped into my skin from dew of green blades.

Now he is gone. I write about him inside a blue house in a perfect, family neighborhood. The grass outside my window is too wild for the beauty standards of the landlord. I drink whiskey from a mason jar that once held fruit. So many shoes in the closet do not belong to me. I fuck my husband in a bed where green sheets hold memories of the seas within my womb.

 

 Fatima writes in purple ink and drink her tea while it's hot. flowerwordspoetry.com