FROM THE ARCHIVES
Lie in the bed next to him. Pretend
your boyfriend’s snoring makes you
calm. Rub your belly & try to press
the cramps away. Squeeze your thighs
together to stop the flow. Fail. Pepper
his sheets with blood against your good
judgement. Fold your body into a mound
of fresh laundry. Get up & toss the
sweetened pad into the trash. Replace it
with a virgin one. When he wakes & roars
because he sees the border of blood you drew
accept your shame. Imagine yourself painting
your body into the nearest wall. Forget
how to shapeshift. But don’t ignore him
when he calls back you over. Notice
how he refuses to hide his cracked face.
Begin cleaning up what Ma once told you
was a blessing. Remember what you've learned:
No time for gazing at a blood moon or wishing
yourself into another time. Grab dishwashing
liquid & water like Google told you. Resist
getting lost in the fiery landscape of his
turned back. Erase yourself as fast as you can.
Contributor Notes
Nadia Alexis, a poet, writer, and photographer from Harlem, is the author of the hybrid poetry and photography collection, Beyond the Watershed. Born to Haitian immigrants, her work has been widely published and exhibited.
She has earned numerous honors, including a mini-grant and Literary Arts Fellowship from the Mississippi Arts Commission, a Mississippi STAR Teacher Award, and recognition as the Poet of the Year Honoree of the Haitian Creatives Digital Awards. A fellow of the Callaloo Creative Writing Workshop and The Watering Hole, she holds a PhD and MFA from the University of Mississippi. She lives in Southwest Mississippi.
