Two Poems

Signe E. Land

Mama Said He Said

Mama said              she doesn’t remember
he said                    he put me in a box with him
i said                       i said nothing
something bad        i did

Mama said               it was hard
he said                     dripping
i said                        rubbing on me, little circles
something bad        i did (nothing)

Mama said               he said he put me in a box
he said                     big enough for us both bare bottomed
i said                        nothing. twisting words     around and around and around in silence
something bad         happened he said (i didn’t)            silence

Mama said               i was small for my age
he said                     it was all normal
i said                        no. (he was fourteen, hair down there curling around curling around)
something bad         i was seven, little bird, tiny bare feet

Mama said               she knew, maybe
he said                     nothing happened
i said                        nothing, afterwards. nothing ever.
something bad         old blankets left in a box

Mama said               she doesn’t remember
he said                     he did it. he said it. i didn’t.
i said                        i kept it in a box hidden
something bad         a box hidden in a mirror until

he said                     something bad he had to tell to make him feel better
& she said                he had to say it to get the bad out of him
& i said                    something wet cold nothing tiny box mirror dark feet bare cold
something bad         nothing. everything. nothing. everything.

old blankets in a box             i twist the ring i bought myself forty years later
turquoise in sterling              round and around and around and around
a box in a mirror                    nothing and everything
little bird bare bottomed       wet & cold
around and around                nothing and everything

Maslow’s Ghost

I pay people to touch me now.
A haircut: the first hands on me
in a month, and, this being an upscale
salon, after she shampoos my head,
my stylist gives me a scalp massage,
sending shivers of remembrance
down my spine.

As luck would have it,
a stranger just cancelled
her massage appointment, and
this upscale salon gives me
a discount on the cost of warm hands
rubbing warm oil into my dry,
and neglected skin.

Karen is her name, Or Kathy.
It doesn’t matter. As she leaves
the room she says, “Let’s start
with you face down.”
It could be months
before anyone’s warm hands
touch my naked body again.

These days, I spend hours reading,
writing, balancing my laptop
with a cat in my lap.  And I tell myself
holding the cat, petting my dogs, these
are enough.  Except, when Karen (or Kathy)
begins to rub my back, I am genuinely surprised
at the intensity of my tears.

© 2019 Signe E. Land

=====

Signe E. Land earned an MFA in Writing from the University of Minnesota and a JD from William Mitchell College of Law, graduating class valedictorian. Ms. Land taught creative writing at St. Olaf College and at the University of Minnesota and practiced law in Minneapolis. Now retired, Ms. Land lives in Minnesota, and her work has appeared in the William Mitchell Law Review, CatheXis Northwest Press, Manifest-Station, Bookends Review, and others. Ms. Land writes poetry and non-fiction, and is currently writing a memoir about the challenges she faced in work and life as an undiagnosed autistic woman. This year, Ms. Land won third place in the Willamette Writers Kay Snow Poetry Competition.