“Possum”

Friday 10:16PM
I’m not in the mood. I mention how tired I am. I pull on my thickest flannel
pajamas. Pants. Socks. Shirt. Underwear. I keep my hair twisted up.

Friday 10:31PM
He’s talking to me from his chair. I can’t understand what he says. I burrow deep
into blankets, and breathe with my eyes shut.

Friday 10:42PM
He climbs into bed and pulls at the blankets. He cannot be hot in bed, he
sweats. I use the warmest flannel quilt, and he has the summer blanket. He
can’t figure out how the blankets work. I turn over, giving him my back.

Friday 10:45PM
He moves his hand slowly down my belly, over my hip, back up to my belly. I pat his hand, friendly, and clasp it. I bring it up to my breast as consolation. We are still.

Friday 10:47PM
He’s moving both hands now. Trying to get between my legs.
He pulls my pajamas down around my knees and I am trapped. I lay inert. He rests his right hand on my rear. His left hand is missing. He stops moving.

Saturday 12:09AM
I am awake. He is nuzzling my neck. The hands are seeking entry. I
hold my breath. I am a board.

Saturday 12:10AM
Impatient, he rolls me over. I move to roll back. He rolls me again, on to my
back. We are wordless. His hands, soft, small, find everything.

Saturday 12:12AM
While he is inside me, I calculate how much sleep I might get. I think about field
trip forms, financial aid forms, laundry. I find his rhythm and move into it. Flannel is all
around you, when you have no place to go. He is soft and hard in the wrong places.

Saturday 12:17AM
There was once a place where we said “I love you”. Now, I ask, “Better?” as if
kissing a paper cut.

Saturday 12:18AM
He shudders twice and twitches into sleep. His arms are flung above his head, a
pale equal sign under the clock. I saw them next to me, far away.