Rebellion
You pushed me through a closed door once
in a flurry to get all done
that had to be done.
Then, you pushed a comb through my head
like a key card to a skyscraper.
I take a turtle’s lifetime to move now:
sip whiskey through tight teeth,
compose shopping lists with pinpoint precision.
I fold sheets slowly and stroke each weave, the way
a sitcom mother strokes her daughter’s hair.
You sit between my brows
queen that you are,
usurper of my head,
you fall back laughing
at the frivolity of your own making.
At night
I peel my jeans off the way Apa peeled honey.
