Now I will crack my sternum, and: Congratulations:
- Now I will crack my sternum, and: Congratulations:
unfold my blackened ribsopen them, so I may lift her out.My mother:as shriveledas her voice is loud. [End Page 255]
Congratulations:
I'm obsessed with my face—this altar of toxins,how I gleam in sacrament.As if the name you gave memeans what it means:bitter tear of the sea,virgin whom God deployed for sacrifice.
Congratulations. My galaxy orbits arounda black hole: I'm the pitinto which children roll their dirty penniesin the science museum they'll never rememberadventuring to, due to the gray matte wallsand the long sighs of their parents,ashamed to be reminded of lawsthat govern the universe, which they too were taught as childrenbut forgot.—See, I remember moreand thus, I'm awarded a mask that is gnarledbut in high gloss. Once you try it on:you can't take it off. I wish you told me thatwhen you knotted the velvet cordbehind my head—pointless—and reminded me,if anyone saw my smile, they'd rape me, Anything that enters youis violence. [End Page 256] Congratulations. The technology of voicemailensures the smooth capture of your banshee voiceinto its ethereal trap, for me to replay laterbefore the sun comes up.Me and your voicein the dark—just like old times! And again,I'm slain as your voice skins off my dragon skin.As for my scales,the bedspread soaks them up oh so politely.
Congratulations. You're still not a grandmother.
This inverse vanity keeps me very busycontemplating the arrivalof potential fissures in the wall,once the foundation of my apartment buildingsighs just once more.It's fine,because the phone never ringsever since I tore the mask off—on the phone,you could hear the old flesh rip.
Three years and the flesh has grown backdifferent: a numb layer of mirrorthat keeps the world at bay. Because,Congratulations, I'm alive.
But for all the fortress under grey firmamentin the gothic myth of childhood you built around me,I have come out from under the rubble.Not like a hero aglow with effervescent lumen
who busts out from the rubble with a laughor a smug mouth. Nah,I just scuttle out sidewaysin search of a new dark roomwith a door that will lock. [End Page 257] [End Page 258]
Kristi Carter is the author of Cosmovore, Daughter Shaman Sings Blood Anthem, as well as Red and Vast. Her poems have appeared in publications including So to Speak, poemmemoirstory, CALYX, Hawaii Review, and Nimrod. Her work examines of the intersection of gender and intergenerational trauma in twentieth-century poetics. She holds a PhD from University of Nebraska Lincoln and an MFA from Oklahoma State University. She can be reached at mkristicarter@gmail.com.
