domesticated 

i always wanted to be the whirlpool's wife.
i bought an apron. i bought a thimble.
i baked a cake in the shape 
of my head & sat to watch you eat.
Red velvet. icing-lipped. 
i was a cow & i dreamed of having hands
i could use to tie knots. i was a flock
of geese & i imagined flying so far south
that the world turned inside out 
& all i could see for miles were trees 
growing down from the sky like fangs.
there was the one summer we lived in the rv.
your barefoot mirage. your ring 
after ring & the promises that followed. 
the lock on the door. smell of
ocean & must. i thought every day
of going feral. of shaving my head 
& running away from you. hitchhiking into
the mouth of another boy. there seemed
to be so many back then. every window
had a pair of eyes floating & staring.
i was skilled at obedience when i needed to be. 
stay. sit. come.
your finger on my chin. shaved legs
as smooth as dead fish. the worst parts were
when i craved it. when i yearned for
your command. tell me who i am. 
tell me exactly who i am. domestication
is the process of emptying. not coming home
but becoming a home for another's knees.
do you remember when you said,
"i want you to smile?" i did. crooked toothed.
my breasts like trampled peaches.