Memoirs Of a Mousewife
Memories of abuse I endured before finally finding my courage.
Once he sat at the kitchen table
Sipping cheap whiskey
And jutted his finger
Up my skirt
Much like one sticks a licked finger
Towards the sky
To see the direction
In which the wind is blowing.
But unlike a weathervane
He was searching in vain
For any sign
That lies were pouring down my thighs
Like rain
Where did you go?
Why did you shave your legs?
WHY THE FUCK
Do you get all dolled up
For everyone but me,
You little whore?
…And all the promises
He made to my dad
About me going back to school
Were lies
Because men were at school
And men have dicks
And I could never be trusted
We never fought
About me leaving the house
When I was pregnant.
When I was big and round
And my want to fuck
Every living soul in town
Was weighed down
By the melon
That I carried in my pelvis,
He was kind
Those months and years
My hips swayed only for him
Life was easy and happy
… And I ignored
All the Craigslist ads
For male seeking male
And the transvestite porn links
From Redtube
Hidden in his browser history
Because I wanted him to love me
Because he was all
I had ever known
Because when I was 15 and he was 26
I was old enough to make
My own damned decisions
Because I made my bed
And now I had to sleep in it
A woman’s place
Is at home raising kids
He would often say
After I conceived our first child
At the ripe old age of 17
A newlywed
And I’ve been raising kids
Since before I never finished high school
I was changing
My newborn sister’s diapers
In a moving minivan
Speeding down the highway
Since before I ever remember
Feeling tired
I always thought my children
were my choice
But he didn’t think birth control
was right for me
It will give you cancer
But I know the answer
I was the ideal vessel for his seed
The young hot bitch
With which to breed
The saint chosen to carry around
His superior DNA
And his gateway
To the simple old ways
Of the world
Now lost
To a crumbling society
I was born in the wrong era
He would often say
If I spoke of my hopes and dreams
Of anything
Outside of that house
As if a woman dies to herself
The day she first gives birth
The women these days,
with their sense of selves,
are all selfish sluts.
I’ll just stay at home,
And be a mousewife,
And make cheese.
I’d say with a laugh
Knowing there was never
Anything more
Than his grip
Around my throat
For daring to hope
For anything
That resembled success
I hid bruises for years
And when all my fears
Were materialized
Into a loaded gun
Pressed into my mind
His family said
But what did you do
To make him so mad?
On grey days
When my nervous system vibrates
I stealthily migrate
Past the driveway
Of that old house
I often wonder
Was it always this small
Or is it me who has grown?
If you or someone you know is a victim of abuse, call the national abuse hotline. You are not alone 1–800–656–4673
