—You’re always one decision away from a totally different life. Anonymous
Covered with ice packs, she sprawls on a white sheet.
Skin blisters. A fan whispers her boyfriend’s name,
tells her how skin will shed—delicate membranes—layer by layer.
She waits, pictures herself a bride.
Yes, she said I do but blood drained from her face
and abdication churned in her. No day had been holy since then.
Who was she after the diaper changes, the plates stacked
on granite counters? What she longs for most is herself
as she leaves everything: husband, four children.
She cries into a bucket of golf balls; with growing force
she hits each one, hears the solid slap of steel, rushed parting of air.
She cooks for an ever-changing family of artists and writers.
Food is her medium. She knows flavors blend as pigments,
dyes, creates with asparagus tips, artichoke hearts, warm bread,
and aspic, listens to lofty discussions on books and art,
the creative process, placates everyone’s quirks, demands, egos,
smiles —a perfect hostess is what they want,
no different from her family. Always the giving,
the smoothing over: it will be alright.
Now she lives in a high rise along the Atlantic, lounges at a Tiki bar,
drives her convertible up and down A1A,
swims laps in a thunderstorm because she can.
Covered with ice packs, she sprawls on a white sheet.
Skin blisters. A fan whispers her boyfriend’s name,
tells her how skin will shed—delicate membranes—layer by layer.
She waits, pictures herself a bride.
Yes, she said I do but blood drained from her face
and abdication churned in her. No day had been holy since then.
Who was she after the diaper changes, the plates stacked
on granite counters? What she longs for most is herself
as she leaves everything: husband, four children.
She cries into a bucket of golf balls; with growing force
she hits each one, hears the solid slap of steel, rushed parting of air.
She cooks for an ever-changing family of artists and writers.
Food is her medium. She knows flavors blend as pigments,
dyes, creates with asparagus tips, artichoke hearts, warm bread,
and aspic, listens to lofty discussions on books and art,
the creative process, placates everyone’s quirks, demands, egos,
smiles —a perfect hostess is what they want,
no different from her family. Always the giving,
the smoothing over: it will be alright.
Now she lives in a high rise along the Atlantic, lounges at a Tiki bar,
drives her convertible up and down A1A,
swims laps in a thunderstorm because she can.
Marc Frazier has widely published poetry in journals including The Spoon River Poetry Review, ACM, f(r)iction, The Gay and Lesbian Review, Slant, Permafrost, Plainsongs, and Poet Lore. Marc is the recipient of an Illinois Arts Council Award for poetry and has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize and a “best of the net.” He is a Chicago-area LGBTQ+ writer who has appeared in the anthology New Poets from the Midwest. Marc’s three poetry collections are available online.
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