by Dianne Casey
We Fed It Anyway
The house ran on high blood pressure
you heard it in the pipes,
a pulse that wouldn’t settle
you felt it
before the door learned to slam
footsteps quickening
down the hallway’s throat
heavier
cupboards snapping shut
like teeth
hair lifting on my arms
before I knew why
the walls listening
a chair dragged back
across the floor’s spine
then the slam
then silence
holding its breath
too long
I let everyone else
take the softest place
their plates fuller
as if the house
could be fed
and not turn
The Sentence Finishes Itself
Good girls starve
not always for food
sometimes for quiet
Lycra cinched to proof
breath held
so the seam won’t confess
the body negotiated down
Comments don’t land
they take hold
worked in daily
until it reflects
You’d have such a good figure if
(if what?)
Nothing tastes as good as being slim
the sentence finishing itself
in other people’s mouths
Fork paused
mid-air
as if waiting
for permission
Smile fixed
set too fast
Full, they say
but the word slips
something underneath
keeps moving
not hunger
something trained
to need less
until even that
is too much
What I Did Instead
They told me
not to make myself
the reason they stayed
just in case I did it anyway
between meals,
permission slips,
ink that refused my name
anything permanent
They think I’m waiting:
a mug by the kettle,
cooling into usefulness,
handle turned outward
for a hand that never returns
I learned extension
how to lengthen a quiet
until it held
rinsing lunchboxes
ghosted with apple
long after the orchard closed
This love stays
where I put it
does not wander
I loved you
through your forgetting,
through your exits
masquerading as freedom
I stayed
The cord was never cut
we folded it into errands,
PE kits,
school photos,
filed it under years
no one witnessed
I don’t beg
anymore
If you call,
I let it ring
long enough
to remember
who I was
before answering
I open the door
not wide
just enough
for something to enter
that might still leave
because I built this life
out of staying
and I know now
how easily
a thing can live here
without belonging
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