Hoboken, and: Un-Soft

Abstract

Hoboken, and: Un-Soft Martha Rhodes (bio) At last, the dog lets us know she’s ours,settling at our feet, not by our door,and often, now, across our laps, her caninesmell forcing hands to noses—she stinks, Lord—we should bathe her, and do, or don’t, dependshow tired, how lazy—our cats were easier,smelled like mown lawn—yes, now we’re hers,she’s content with us, won’t ever trade us in,keeps us together; let’s take Hobokento Cape May, or just one more biscuit;endless laughs over her silly antics;she keeps us under this roof, together,now that much has drifted away—the tender,intimate, April scent of a husband’s back. Un-Soft From the beginning, that wasonly my beginning—I don’t presumeit was anyone else’s—I was difficult. No onecame forward to nurse or clean me. Ashamedto look away, they could not look atfor I was, if not horned and befouled,repugnant, reminding them of the eversuppressed Collective Nightmare. [End Page 126] Even in their most naked moments, barelyawake, before coffee and eggs, dawn justbeginning to melt the crust at their eyes,they heard my squalls and pretendedI was yet to arrive into their lives. I wasstill just a swelling for those few moments,a happy promise. From the beginning,I was demanding, and insatiable. I ate through carpet, pearls, quilts, and pets.I demolished bank accounts and shat outsnake heads. I was—I remember—a beast. Un-soft, rancid, my milk teeth pointingin all directions. I was at home in their root cellar,hay loft, dung pile, pig slop bucket. Called Scare Crow,Gaseous, Fungal Spread. I am not self-loathing, here.I do not ask to be convinced otherwise. My sisters knew I belonged townships away—the Lodge.Send It to the Lodge, they’d pray through their sheets.But I’d made that impossible, having snuck through the portalto smear my waste on those walls and across the sleeping foreheadsof its occupants. My signature. You see, I wanted to staywith my family, my loved ones. And yet, it was I who buried themyear by year. There is no why save that from my beginning,I was difficult. If only it wasn’t so difficult to smothera difficulty, I’d hear through my crib’s sheets.Night after night, nap after nap, I triedto make it easy for them, rising up againand again to meet the pillows held above my head. [End Page 127] Martha Rhodes Martha Rhodes is the author of five poetry collections, most recently The Thin Wall from University of Pittsburgh Press. She is a member of the faculty of the mfa Program for Writers at Warren Wilson College and is the publisher of Four Way Books. She lives in New York City. Copyright © 2021 University of Nebraska Press