michaela godding

If You Buy Me a Kitchen (Make Sure There’s an Oven)

you tell me, crazy girl, to come back
inside. to sit on the couch and breathe.
that my belting is waking the neighbors
in grey. so I couch, like you say, in this white
walled apartment that you told me I wanted. I sit
next to sylvia. hear her smile in my ear
of ovens. taped doorways. of death
with window. I sit with virginia. she yells
to find a room of my own. a house
without a man to handcuff me
to my “nature”. factory lover, anne sexton
is waiting down in the garage, to drive me
into thinking I can hear myself, in the grey.
the women. they rattle the living room.
as you rattle your voice, on and on. say,
women are so unpredictable, which is not
what you mean. what you mean is,
women are loud. what you mean is that
you are the man of the house, body is home,
and my home is woman. what you mean
is that you are the man of this woman.
and the women, sitting next to me, standing
within me, refuse to stay quiet any longer
as your sensitive ears turn my rage into residence.

From Dwelling, Bottlecap Press