house wife

i put gender in the casserole dish tonight.
then, my heart is in the crock pot if you want
a taste of museums. tell me what a windowsill is for
& i will tell you where the space shuttles 
launch from. in the television room
everyone floats two inches off the ground
but i am the only one who notices. 
mine is a gender of vigils. of noticing 
where my body is asked to move. microwave children
with their steam laden faces. when the mailbox
is decapitated by a neighbor boy 
with a baseball bat, i stand in the yard
mouth open, waiting for the world to come.
a door has little to do with the inside
& more to do with that is on its way. 
when dealing in hauntings, it is best
to light a candle or a match & not a flashlight.
i fill the nursery with bananas & telephones.
someone will call soon. someone will be sweet soon.
let's not be afraid of the next gender 
walk into. instead, let us feast on soup bones.
let us wait for everyone to vanish
into their hungers. car horn. dimes. then, we will 
go to the basement to feed the beast.
fingers like dolies. a house dress. apron.
wooden spoon pounding against the wall
all on its own. it's craving salted water. pasta.
meatloaf. lover. lurid. fork scraping teeth. 

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