Choke

Dinner
I watch the careful placement
Of knife and fork
The ritual of meal time
We do not eat like this anymore
The formal tradition
The plate one inch from the edge
He cuts his steak
Chews slowly methodically
I want him to choke
I hug his neck
He smells like canteloupe

Marriage
I carried a tiny hope as a girl
I will marry
I will wear white
My fathers, so many
I shall give self away
To What?
What is left that is mine?
The "He's" become an amalgam
Of faceless fathers and brothers
And husband and gods
It is not his fault

Love
We are on the grass
Crisp new growth beneath us
Cicadas like baby rattles
The sharp night sky
He smells of guinness and smoke
I want him to worship
And to comfort and to teach
But mainly I want him to leave
Go back to his father
I will choke

Sunday
His hands raise in the air
Waiving fluttering
Spirit fingers
Doves of peace
He would hang from those wrists
Nailed
A cross of words
I should leave him there
But he glories in it
And I am Magdeline afterall
choking