By Fay Khudairi

All I want to do is talk and talk
But you’re telling me to listen

I tease between choices
And you tell me to make up my mind

I stare with wide eyes, mouth agape
And you tell me I’m gullible

I want to bike down the path behind our apartment
But you say it’s time to do homework

I’m writing you a poem in nothing but a towel
And you say I have a short attention span
Put some clothes on.

I tire you
I’m never satisfied, you tell me.
Finally you say you’ll come anyway
because it’d be nice to see me smile

I read you my poem.
You say you don’t get it
And how could you?
This is all new for me too

I stare at you with bored eyes
And anxious feet
Come with me
and make a new beginning
that I’ll remember.

In the shower I shave my legs
The cream promising Baby Soft skin
And so with each drag of the razor
I try to remind myself that I’m a woman
and that your initialized fantasies are not what I desire to be
That not only do you protect me but that
this razor is not sharp enough to cut me.

I wrote you a poem in the shower
But as soon as I get out,
I can’t remember it

Sometimes before I go to bed I think about
Every stupid thing I did that day
And I hate it because
once I start with one, they all join in
forming a line, linking arms
In some cruel alliance of Red Rover
Sinking me into sleep.

You say I have a split personality
I say I’m sick of defending myself
in poems about you.

You say, You should practice for your interview in the mirror
So I do
But as I stare back at the reflection,
you cock your head
As if seeing me for the first time.

Often I feel lonely
because I don’t have a little girl to run to
Those clothes are long gone
They’ve been given down
To accommodate my curving body
My bumpy body.

We practice for my interview today
You say, Describe yourself in three words.
Three words so I can compartmentalize you because honestly, I don’t have the time
So I say,
I don’t know.

I gave your poem away
With it I say,
I fear I’m no longer afraid
to say what I want
Because you’re not listening anymore.