Button Poetry-About My Mom Must Watch

Touching:

My mom says I follow her like a germ

without knowing my mind is infected.

We laugh.

I hover in the kitchen

like a cough stuck in her throat.

At Thanksgiving, I oversalt the greens

and get demoted to the dishes.

I'm the glass that needs polishing,

know the constant rub will make me clean.

At Tuesday night service,

I find I don't need to touch myself

to touch myself.

I can toy with my muscles

while smiling in a pew,

a pulsing preteen heap

pretending to not think about

how people in this church were created.

Button Poetry-About My Mom Must Watch

Bible

The Bible says Adam knew Eve,

and she birthed Cain.

Maya's parents folded into her

like our tithing envelopes,

and she's singing a hymn next to me.

I accidentally found

my parents' condoms yesterday.

They can't afford another sinner.

I'm so neat.

I'm so careful.

Chores scrub the secret

until my desire is blank.

I erase the dirt in my head

while vacuuming the living room.

Stains yell the sins from my underwear,

and I wash a load for my family

all by myself.

Button Poetry-About My Mom Must Watch

Buttons

I cut my nails to be productive,

need to push the buttons

on the machines easier.

My panties are smothered

in the bottom of the hamper

with dried flakes in the seat.

I'm so dirty.

I'm so independent.

Know how to work around what's broken.

I lay our clothes on the couches to dry

while the dishes soak in hot water.

I tell my mom the laundromat

has a working dryer.

Need to hide the extra drawers

covering the armrests.

These are adult feelings,

and no one teaches me

how to feel before the blood.

Body

I'm told my body

is not built for lust yet.

I'm not a woman, but I want to be.

An erupting girl who doesn't track a cycle

but still ruins cotton panties.

Shay taught me how to pop my ass

in the church bathroom

while our mothers were upstairs

in choir rehearsal,

and I'm ready to grind

on the nearest boy to school the next day.

I must be the only one who craves.

Button Poetry-About My Mom Must Watch

Sunday

I want to ask my Sunday School teacher

if I will go to Hell.

How much am I sinning

when I'm only pleasuring myself?

The bathroom is the only door

I'm allowed to lock in this house.

I point out the ring around the toilet

while gripping Ajax by the neck.

My mom's impressed

at my surge of housework.

Cleanliness is next to godliness.

I'll be a good wife.

Suppression is next to salvation.

I'll be a good sinner.

I turn the latch

and clean myself of the thoughts.

After, I run water

to soak up the sound of crying.

For now, I only need myself.

For now, I only need my need.

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