MICRO

When her husband shouts

By J. HIBA | 13 SEP 2017

By Viviane Sassen — Laundry day © 2010 Karlis Kadegis

she thinks first of her elbows, the flesh tilled
to bloody underscores. Then of the scabs
crude across her drumbelly, and then
of the old floral nightgown that veils it all
so cleanly, has rendered even her
a smeared wandering.
There used to be words for this strife.
She rarely finds them now but they leave
their punctuation on her bed like laundry.
The night steepening, she gathers the pieces,
shuts her eyes. Pleads that tomorrow
arrives without

J. Hiba is a VONA/Voices fellow and holds a BFA in Writing, Literature, and Publishing from Emerson College. Her poetry often confronts the wonderful, intricate, and alienating conditions of the multicultural self, as well as the coping mechanisms of emotional trauma. After-hours, she stirs cake batter and patiently awaits your book recommendations.