Katie Gleason: Rape, Endometriosis & The Miscarriage
Rape
There’s this thing
at the back of my spine
A crooked stone
You are there
With your muscled arms
and black hair
We went on a date
in your bedroom
Even though I swore
not to
I’d slept with more men
Than I could fit in my palm
But I just couldn’t
resist you
Jewel of the kitchen
Shiny and tall
The other waitresses
even voted you
Most Fuckable
But here’s
the stone
Crooked and dark
Your hand
beneath my bra
After I said no
Three times
I didn’t know how
to get up
And walk away
Your ceiling fan
wobbled overhead
Your brown sheets reeked
of sour socks
And after that
I dated you
Here’s the other part
Years later
I raped a man
in the back of my car
He said no
but he was hard
And I shoved his dick
deep inside me
After he lied
and broke my heart
Your stone
Raven haired
crooked and chiseled
Was inside me too
It kept
coming and moaning
in the back of my car
Jagged rock
My only weapon
splintering out
Endometriosis
It’s normal.
Easy as blood.
It’s normal. Normal to pull
out a tampon every hour uterus
spasming with barbed needles crimson
clots the size of lumpy grapes slick and
stain the bathroom floor.
Girls are so histrionic.
It’s normal. Normal to sit in history
class drenched in sweat veins
ice tunnel focus on one
spot on the wall a faded
United States map because
cramps are
normal.
PMS isn’t an excuse.
And neither is a period.
And sometimes it’s normal for
an honors goody two shoes
student to drive home in the
middle of the school day without
asking permission barely make it
home fall on the bed closest
to the garage door ripped car
seat red and slimy body
slack Mother worried and
dismayed.
The doctor says it’s normal.
Listen to him.
He’s an expert.
It’s not normal
to be a runner. But some
runners throw up at
mile six or eight when on their
period stomach a distended
balloon vagina seizes and
sword vomit waves in
bloated tides.
Push through it.
Bring an extra pad.
Pop ten ibuprofen at
a time six times a
day.
Don’t be dramatic.
It’s normal to plan vacations around
cycles always bring mega backup of pain
pills and tampons use a heating
pad ten hours a day fever weight
gain constipation sex hurts
all the time. Shut
up and stop exaggerating.
It’s normal.
Rest assured,
the organs in the belly are plump and pink.
Everything is normal.
There aren’t any grey
monsters mushrooming across
tissue black fingered disease lake
of blood pooling ghosts beneath
skin.
It’s certain
the ovaries are firm and white.
Be reasonable.
Don’t whine.
Everything is fine.
The Miscarriage
You are there
In silence
In the vastness of water
In the ocean’s blue hem
swallowing sand
As I chase down a shell
the wind chuckling behind me
before tide takes it back with her hand
In the white feathers of my pillow
next to my tired ear
telling stories
In my prayer flags
burning in the wind
casting off their tears
You are there
I remember your body
coming out of mine
You left me with no ceremony
in a hospital bathroom
me with paper underwear
numb on Vicodin
The bag of your life I set on the sink
You are not there,
in the place where the nurse ripped my skin
removing my IV
Where your father spooned me on a metal bed
while we waited
for the ultrasound
to show me empty
You are in
my not forgetting
In the hibiscus flowers of my garden
vibrantly orange
In the wart that grew on my finger
after you died
and I tried to scrape it off with my thumb
Hysterectomy
Isn’t it amazing what our bodies can do says
the woman across from me, her belly a giant
floating nest. I eat my sandwich quietly. At work
there are half-grown souls everywhere I
look. Hidden aliens gorging themselves inside
mother wombs, suspended in fluid and blood. I
drift around for months, jealous of
desert oleanders and cacti flaunting their
proud blooms. Sometimes I go home
for lunch because my body misses
her ovaries. Her tears soak my pencil skirt,
my underwear, my expensive lace
bra. Even my hair is soggy at the roots. Co-workers
wonder why I wear different outfits in the
afternoons. I tell them I just like variety. I wonder if
they know the truth.
Katie Gleason's poetry has appeared in Rust + Moth, Foliate Oak, Eunoia Review and O-Dark-Thirty, among others. Katie is a workshop teacher for The Writers Studio Tucson and a student in their Master Class. She lives in Arizona and is a social worker and counselor when she's not writing.
