I, too, was married to my fear. He brought me here, where he could know more than me. Every face and name, every street. I’d never been alone until with him. He liked to tell other people how to live. Wear this. Eat that. Don’t you think that dress makes you look fat? Imagine you wake to find yourself a snake. Venom waiting inside you like a thought. I found myself dangerous in a way I’d never been, sharp-tongued and ready to strike. This place like a child’s innocent reach. I didn’t mean most of what I said. That child with her fat little hand. Don’t you think you’ve already had enough? I, too, was married to myself. Found myself wanting a child to hold. Imagine you wake to find yourself a mother. The wrong place waiting like a claim. I found myself biting before I thought. That lunch lady is mean, and you wanted to run away, to hide yourself in a place you never knew. What you didn’t mean to hurt will always find you out. What you didn’t mean to hurt will hurt you back.

Rachel Custer

is a 2019 National Endowment for the Arts fellow. She is the author of God’s Country (Terrapin Books, forthcoming) and The Temple She Became (Five Oaks Press, 2017). Her poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in many journals, including Rattle, OSU: The Journal, B O D Y, American Journal of Poetry, Antigonish Review, and Open: Journal of Arts & Letters (O:JA&L), among others.

More on the Web: By, About, and Beyond

⚡ Three Poems by Rachel Custer in ONE ART: a journal of poetry (18 May 2022)

⚡ Featured Writer Interview: Rachel Custer by Adekunle Adewunmi in Open: Journal of Arts & Letters (18 January 2020)