Poetry, Maggie Rue Hess
Atone, San Antone
When we speak again
of this place
we will tell them
how tables were full
of prosecco
and fruit juice,
eggs, beans, peppers, tortillas.
But the people carried knives
under their tongues,
broken glass between their teeth.
We will tell them
how we became
like velvet, soft
to dull the blows.
We were corn husks
stewed over and over,
resilient vessels
salty and robust.
This place beckoned
with flowers
orange and pink,
with spices
with sweetbreads
and we followed the call.
After we left,
it was not a mistake
the way we remembered it.
Breathing
A year and a half into it, a friend asks how
married life is going. I say, We’ve finally figured out
how to set the thermostat for both of us. I say,
You know, growing up in the house I did –
I say, I felt like I was holding my breath for so long.
Round, buzzy bees hover toward and away
from my face. March shouldn’t be this sunny,
should it? Should I be sitting outside with bare arms
if I know I’ll burn at least a little? - but should I be
thinking that when the daffodils bloomed weeks ago?
When we were first dating, he lived two hours away,
so the weekends were precious; some days
I would walk around my classroom, stressing at
or over students, think of him, and take a deep breath.
Exhale and find myself smiling.
Everywhere I turned, back then, were mosquitoes
and reasons to upend my life. Quit my job and fish
all day starting at daybreak, swatting the bugs and
staring at the opposite shore, the rich houses.
I grew up with a tiny wood-paneled bedroom
on the top floor; my window opened onto the roof
of faded red tin. Yes, sometimes I climbed out,
but never to escape. I didn't want a home that
I would run away from, but by the time I could drive,
I kept a spare set of everything in the back of my Jeep.
You could say I was waiting to leave, that I was
always ready to. You could say love happened
when I least expected or deserved it: during the summer
trips across the South; over rankings of barbecue joints,
of states we might someday move to; before the fall wedding
and the pair of stinky dogs and the Christmas ornaments
with both our names. Before falling asleep, we list
our favorite moments from the day, curled under the covers
in our (too cold) bedroom. I tell my friend, It's good.
With him, I’m breathing.
Maggie Rue Hess (she/her) is a PhD student living in Knoxville, Tennessee, with her partner and their two crusty white dogs. Her work has previously appeared in Rattle, Minnesota Review, Connecticut River Review, and other publications. Belle Point Press published her debut chapbook, The Bones That Map Us, in February 2024. She likes to share baked goods with friends, and you can find her shenanigans on Instagram: @maggierue_
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