Rupture

Abstract

Rupture Caroline Chavatel (bio) I. Thesis You are without a namewhen I cannot remember it. (imagine a mirror) You are without a name when I cannotremember it. My baby, my mother gestures her hands in a circular motion suggestingI come to. She drips water on my face.Inside the bathroom, at thirteen, I cramp and invent my inner gore. In her divine costume, sheholds my hand alive blurring the line between blood and blood and she is godly. She shoves a tampon into my bodyand she is godly. II. Antithesis Now, at the bar, all the men I half-lovesmirk and salute, all sharks circling blood. They are handsome in the way they are told to be. I hate their haircuts [End Page 34] and bony cheeks. My mother appears in a dreamy strobe (imagine a mother) and I become a pit longing for her fullness now. I confront her in this fantasywith the sunken face she made for me, tell her most people spend their entire lives defending a house and all I ever wanted was to bea soldier of my own body. My child, she lifts her arms and carries me down the alley, bundles me into a seed and shoves meinto her belly. She says, my child would you like a glass of water? Someone is always saying, would you like a glass of wateror what?, the only hymn they know, waving a chalice around. A halo of light surrounds them in their collective apron. I am never thirstybut always agree. To fill another is the nicest thing. III. Synthesis In the bathroom, examining the tile, I lay still counting the crystalsof an inherited chandelier. She is making me count to ten and cradlingthe domestic animal of my head in her hands. You have created a monster, I say to hergently. I'll live on these [End Page 35] tiles forever, I think at thirteen. In the bathroom, exotic birds whirl along the edge of a Chinese vase. The daycreeps in through the window, reminding us. (imagine a mirror) The day creeps in throughthe window, reminding us that it will not be here very long and to not mind it, but we do. The birds liftoff the vase (imagine flight) and into another woman's mouth. She politely chokes for a second, then spits out two, four, eight feathered figures; they multiply and pair up, parade through the door. She heavesthe elephant tusk hanging from the wall and says, this thing is most like a spear and has no mind for boundaries.She shoves it into my heart and elephants process through my chest in twos. I am bleeding and she sutures me. Is womanhood this?I lift from the ground. She reaches down to link her arm to mine and we paradeout the wooden frame, into another. The line "this thing is most like a spear and has no mind for boundaries" is taken from Terrance Hayes's poem "The Elegant Tongue." [End Page 36] Caroline Chavatel Caroline Chavatel is an mfa candidate at New Mexico State University where she is poetry editor at Puerto del Sol. Her work appears or is forthcoming in AGNI Online, Gulf Coast, Cosmonaut's Avenue, Hayden's Ferry Review, and other publications. She lives in Las Cruces, NM, and is an editor at Madhouse Press. Copyright © 2018 University of Nebraska Press