One Poem from Lindsey Blanchard

Marital bliss


The sharp breaths in between
are the only remnants
of how it feels -
you pinning me, hands grasping
my fleshy backside,
your head buried in my pillow.

It lasts for thirty minutes.
Sometimes, it will be forty five
if you look me in the eyes
while you're inside me.

After, you run your finger over
the pale of my tired legs,
take an imaginary scapel to
the pieces you wished were smaller,
say nothing while I wait for you
to wrap me in your shaking arms.

Instead,
you pull yourself from between me
walk briskly to the shower to
wash off the remnants of me.

I stare at the ceiling,
twist the ring off my long finger
and turn over.

 

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