Two poems by Marissa Glover

Housebroken

Now starts the slow domestication,
the unloved urgency

of getting the job done. It doesn’t matter
what my job is— ++++++ or yours.

We do it.

And if we’re ever in doubt,
our kids will tell us what’s wrong
with the world and exactly how to fix it.

++++++ And we’ll pretend we’re listening

to them the way our parents did with us,
knowing smugly— +++and sadly,
that someday they, too,

will sit in a driver’s seat and nod.

*

Holding It In

I farted and my son said I was gross.

He’s been alive a decade,
already he’s passing law:
Girls are not allowed to fart.

Naturally, I protested.
You do it. Daddy does it too.
My logic was impeccable.

This isn’t sexism, Mom.
It’s just a fact of life.

I thought, This is how it starts—
with farts.

Teaching girls to will it away
(never mind the damage)
or let it out in private
or express themselves quietly, ladylike
so that no one hears.

With the effort of Hercules,
we hold it all in—
stretching intestines
pressuring the uterus
marching the stomach
into the throat—
hiding everything inside
until we shut down

or explode.


Marissa Glover teaches and writes in central Florida, where she spends most of her time sweating. Her poetry has appeared at Easy Street, The Opiate, and Lipstick Party Magazine and in UK journals such as Amaryllis, Picaroon Poetry, Solstice Sounds, Poetry24, I Am Not a Silent Poet, and Ink, Sweat & Tears. She has work forthcoming from Riggwelter in February. Follow her on Twitter @_MarissaGlover_.


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Photo by Logan Fisher on Unsplash

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