“I drank your milkshake” by Amiah Taylor
a classmate said he had a cat.
she had birthed a litter.
he milked her into a bowl for his breakfast cereal
and that is why all her kittens were dead. starved.
i often think about that lactating cat and her gerrymandered milk.
i have been a wet nurse.
a man drank from my breasts with no stomach.
a self-titled cyborg.
there was so much pent up aggression in that mouth
that could not freely smile or sob, that mouth that told time like a clock.
when it was time to be charming, when he sensed me pulling away,
he would tug on his zipper and show me blood and innards
both woman and bandage, I absorbed.
i raised my daughter on formula and she had the common sense to ask
where do my dreams go to die?
i am washing dishes, elbow deep in hot water and suds.
mommy smiles like she hasn’t been staring into Nietzsche's abyss.
it is an easy enough tale to tell.
there were not enough rungs on the rescue ladders for all of us
and I was hollow from giving myself to your father’s cheap opiate touch
my bones held me up out of sheer force of habit.
my dreams had small pink noses and closed eyes.
fragile and trusting, they rubbed against the burlap.
they had names like doctor and happy and
soft malleable kitten bones.
I put them in a bag and threw them in the water.