Assistant Editor Jess Jelsma Masterton: In this excerpt from “What I Want In a Sister Wife,” Christen Noel Kauffman defies expectation on the level of the line, image, and content. The speaker yearns not for the love and attention of her husband but for those from a future sister wife. She commands said sister wife to “cut out my tongue,” to “envelop him/in the curves of your mouth” when their husband returns home. The use of the imperative along with the juxtaposition of images—of sex and violence with silver spoons and paper cranes— remains startling up to the poem’s end.
To hear Christen read her poem, you can click here:
from “What I Want in a Sister Wife”
I.
Peel me from the floor, olive oil dripped
to knuckle bend, carry me to soft down.
When the babies cry, wrap them as I would
in layers of apple skin, their seeds tucked close
inside their chests. Carve in them my name.
Teach them synonyms for imaginary words, open
the back door to let them breathe. Let them out.
Let them put hieroglyphs to walls.
I have waited for you to cut out my tongue,
waited to measure myself against your hips.
Tell our husband how to plant roots.
When he comes home late, envelop him
in the curves of your mouth, and don’t forget
the light.
Leave me to the solitude of paper cranes.
Make breakfast in cast iron, promise
centipedes and early spring.
When the babies’ bellies have filled,
wipe their lips with the bodies of silkworms,
their cheeks culled into rows of silver spoons.
When the work is done, find me curled into impossible
shapes, two ovaries like berries in my palm.
Cradle me into tulip stem, your hands in my hair,
sit by my bed and help me find sleep
when the yolks have all feathered in their shells.
Christen Noel Kauffman is a poet and essayist living in Richmond, Indiana, with her husband and two daughters. Her work can be found or is forthcoming in Booth, Threadcount, DIAGRAM, and The Normal School, among others.
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