We could have been happy.
In the shriek of the gales hear
our seven sons wail.
Did I not warn you, beloved?
Did I not ask for just one thing—
solitude each Thursday?
Damned by my mother, and you
have damned me still, spying on
the slick and scale of my secret body.
How much betrayal can one woman take?
A curse I can now never break.
I am nothing if I cannot hold my sons.
Was it worth it—your peek in the keyhole?
Listen to our ruin in the rustle of trees.
The wind. It is eternal.
Lauren Davis is the author of the chapbook Each Wild Thing’s Consent (Poetry Wolf Press). She holds an MFA from the Bennington Writing Seminars, and her poetry and essays can be found in publications such as Prairie Schooner, Spillway, Empty Mirror, and Lunch Ticket. Davis teaches at The Writers’ Workshoppe in Port Townsend, WA, and she works as an editor at The Tishman Review.
Artwork: Christian Schloe, Unlock