Rita Tiwari
Everything I Don’t Say to My Husband
My love is such that rivers cannot quench
Anne Bradstreet
I want to build for you
a sturdy home
behind my sternum,
with rough walls
of 19th-century cedar.
It will be beautiful
and rustic and in it
you will be safe
as a fly in amber.
I want to live with you
in a dory boat
permanently at sea,
blessed with fresh water
and ripe oranges.
There, I will be
a tiny octopus
perched atop your head
my tentacles wrapped
around your chin
like a bonnet’s strings.
I want to be feathered:
chestnut-backed chickadee,
I’ll build my nest
in your pocket,
whistle gentle songs
as you feed me sandwich
crumbs, regard you
with one eye then the other.
After dark your dreams
sing as they march
across the duvet. Listen.
They sound like gnomes
in an old cartoon.
They carry pickaxes.
When night grinds, threshes,
I’ll shake you free
of their luminous,
four-fingered hands.
Rita Tiwari is a poet and fiction writer. Her poems appear in Portland Review, CALYX, Whale Road Review, and others. Her writing is inspired by urban landscapes, film noir, and mythology. She holds a Master of Arts in Writing from Portland State University and a Master of Fine Arts in Writing from Pacific University. When she is not writing, Rita enjoys exploring the Pacific coast and discovering hidden treasures near her home in Portland, Oregon.