Blue House

 

Once we lived together in a little blue house

Then we moved together into a big blue house

And you said

Look, baby, I built this for you

And I said

Look, baby, I built this for you

I pointed to my chest

I said

If you ever get tired of living in a blue house

You can live in here

And so you did

 

I heard Harry Nilsson say

My friend, you’re living in a dream

and nothing is ever as it seems

 

But I ignored him over and over

 

Meryl Streep blows Goldie Hawn’s

guts out in Death Becomes Her

 

Goldie Hawn doesn’t die

 

She just walks around the pool with this

Big hole in the middle of her body

 

I can see right through her

Right to the other side

I jump up and down on the couch and

Point at the television shouting

That’s me! That’s me!

 

I want to listen to that Neil Young song

And I want to hold your face in my hands

And I want to sing

Good to see your face again

And I want to

 

Really really really

Really really really

Really really really

 

Mean it

 

But I don’t mean anything that comes out

Of my mouth anymore

 

I am just trying to be good and happy

 

 

Good Listener

 

A woman wearing scrubs walks in

She looks around and says

Seven

I stand up from my seat

She says

Follow me

And

Right this way

 

I am a good listener

I walk behind her

Arms crossed over my belly

Purse dangling from my shoulder

 

We enter a room

The lights are off

There is a monitor

There is a table

The lights are off

 

She says

You’ll need to take your pants off and

Get on that table

I say

Okay

 

I wait for her to leave

I wait for privacy

But she does not leave

She washes her hands

Puts on blue latex gloves

 

I follow directions

I take my pants off

Slip out of my underwear

Hoist myself up onto the table

Lined with tissue paper

 

I wish I wore a dress because then I

Could just lift it up or something

Wearing only a t-shirt makes me

feel like a toddler

 

The lady rubs lube on a wand

She asks

Do you want to hear the heartbeat?

 

No, no thank you

 

She says

You’re going to need to scoot down

Closer to me

 

I follow directions

The tissue crinkles

 

She inserts the wand into my vagina

It is cold

 

This is not the first time someone has

Looked inside me for something alive

 

The woman starts talking

Not to me

To someone named Maria

Who I gather is drawing blood

From number six

In the next room

 

Everyone seems irritated

I focus on keeping my face

Turned away from the monitor

 

There are two things

There is embarrassment

And there is discomfort

 

The woman announces

Ten weeks

And then pulls the wand out of me

as she rolls back on her chair

 

I am sticky with lube

She says

You can just go ahead and

Wipe yourself with the tissue on the table

I say

Thank you

Because it seems like a response

 

She nods

Directs me to the next room

Where I assume Maria will take my blood now

And I fucking hate myself

And I just want to go to work

And I want to forget about this morning

And I want to forget about all the things

You said to me

While I sat on the floor of our apartment

And you sat on the couch

Red in the face looking like you might

Pass out because you were out of breath

And I couldn’t breathe either

But not because I was talking

But because I never said anything

I never said anything

I was taught to be polite

So I never said anything

 

 

Love Poem

 

He said, you are a stubborn bitch. But that was last night. The day dragged. Tonight, I sit at a bar alone. There is a well known local poet here. He goes by Wolf or something. His chosen name for himself. One time he read poems to me on my porch. Poems about love. About the end of the world. I don’t remember why he did that. I always forget his name. It was a long time ago. He orders a soda and bitters. I order another Negroni. He looks at me. Tries to place my face maybe. Singer in the song keeps singing, baby baby baby baby I need you baby baby baby baby can’t live without my baby. The bartenders do a stupid little dance together. Clap their hands. They talk shit to each other. Laugh. My friend Bud told me on the phone, I am tired of all these people talking about their past. Talking about how, oh that was the hardest time in my life. He said, one day we will be old and everyone we love right now will be gone so at least we have that to look forward to. More people come in. The people play pool. The people throw darts. They order drinks. They talk. Deep drunk meaningful conversation. About how, oh that was the hardest time in my life.

Mikaela Grantham is the founder and co-editor of Disorder Press, which she runs with her brother. She lives in New Orleans with her dog, Ruby.

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