Razor Burn

Razor Burn

Alone
and a thousand miles away
from a liquor store
I make a margarita
with vodka
and lemon juice
and it gives me what I want
which is courage
to ask him
if
since her terrible death
has he wanted me
or anyone else
to
listen to him explain
what it was like
to lose love
so soon
after he found it
to witness her beauty
transform him
into a man
who could live without it
if it meant keeping her
in the world
if it meant
another day
another momentary smile
that held him
happily captive
in that chair
in the hospital
hours
spent waiting for the last one
and when it came
I want to know
exactly
how much it killed him
and now
almost a year later
I want to know
if there is any part of his body
spared of grief
any part of his anatomy
in conflict
with his fully broken heart
I want to know
if his books
and intelligence
and rejection of gods
has given him comfort
or
permission
to move on
to reduce life and grief
to textbook evanescence
I want to know
if he wants to find it again—
love—
wherever he can
whatever it may look like
however fragile
would he risk losing it again
if loss
would always be the cost?

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DeMaris
5.6.24

California State Line

California State Line

On the way
they camped in Colorado
where the dark nights  
were dusted with stars so bright
she could see the wish in his eyes
and she hoped he couldn’t see
the uncertainty in hers
as she watched his lips
whisper her name,
watched him close his eyes
as he pulled her gently into him
as he’d done so many times since July—
and it was June now,
almost a year between them—
almost an entire year
trying so hard to convince herself
she loved him
because her mother did
and because he wore fine clothes
and always smelled good
and kept his kitchen so clean
the children they would never have
could have eaten off the floor—
and he was taking her now
out of Florida
to the giant sequoias and redwoods,
to the Pacific Ocean of her dreams—
and he always paid for everything
and he promised her his heart
if she could live happily
with the money he made—
if she could live in his large house
with his frequent absences
and his tendency toward excess
and the way his apologies
were always attached
to some extravagant gift
like the gift certificate to Lululemon
for failing to remember
their six-month anniversary,
like the weekend in Paris
after she caught him browsing
his ex-girlfriend’s Instagram—
like this vacation—
which she suspected  
he was hoping to exchange for a YES
after she told him not yet
when he asked
if she would go with him to look at rings
because she wasn’t sure
they were right together
since she wanted campgrounds
and he wanted resorts
and she liked turtles
and he liked fast cars
but they both liked sushi
so that seemed to be as promising
as a heart emoji
at the end of a text—
and before they fell asleep
under the priceless moonlight
there it was,
he couldn’t help it—
the money talk—
the way he never had enough—
the way he chased it like a man
would chase a woman
just to see if he could catch her—
and she felt snared,
felt unsure if she was in love with him,
but she was certain she wouldn’t be
by the time they reached
the California state line.

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DeMaris
5.6.24

In the Beginning

In the Beginning

It feels best 
in the beginning
when the sun rises and sets 
simply as a guide
for when we should start
and stop fucking
otherwise
we’d never get out of bed—
and it felt best
before I knew the names 
of the women who will haunt you
for the rest of your life—
before I knew 
the way you look 
when you’re thinking
about something you want to say,
but you don’t say it
because you shouldn’t say it—
and it felt best
when we walked into the hotel
pretending we were virgins
pretending I wasn’t insecure
pretending you weren’t still in love
with someone else—
and it was so good
in the beginning
when you didn’t know
I drank too much
when I didn’t know
you would never
want to get married
or make plans for the future
or have children
or a dog
or a garden
or a bank account together—
it felt best in the beginning
when our love
was naïve as a blank check—
when all the omissions
felt like a courtesy
instead of a lie—
when it felt like happiness
could arrive like a dream
in a box
on your porch—
the one with two white rocking chairs,
both sitting empty.

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DeMaris
4.25.24

Table of Contents

Table of Contents

When we needed it
where was the manual
for how to, you know, pass gas
accidentally
for the first time
in our relationship
after we’d already shared
saliva and tears
and the glistening perspiration
that often accompanied
the candlelight
on those nights
we never slept apart—
and it turned out to be
something hilarious
and it became impossible
to keep pretending
we weren’t fully functional
human beings
with large intestines
and funny bones
and warm red blood
right there under our skin—
and when the year
started to pull you closer
to the end
there was no manual
for how to respond
to the way your body
kept wandering toward
the hospital
while your sense of humor
kept the cancer
from putting you in the grave
for as long as it could
and it would have been nice
to open a wide-spined tome
and read the table of contents—
to run my finger
down the page
passing the now-irrelevant entries
like
how to know if you’re in love
how to fart and make it funny
and find the appropriate page
to turn to
to find the answer
to the question
how do I go on without you?

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DeMaris
4.18.24

“Chambered Nautilus” by Andrew Wyeth, 1956

Three of Us in the Cereal Aisle

Three of Us in the Cereal Aisle

By the time I really fell
out of love with you
and in love with him,
he and I were doing everything together
going everywhere—
driving the same roads
making our own delicious memories
but I couldn’t help imagining you  
when we passed the movie theater
on our way to dinner—
couldn’t help but remember
that time you snuck in,
met me in the back row
where we missed
the last half-hour of the movie
because we made out,
and for the first time I moved my hand
between the buttons of your shirt
and I can still remember knowing
what that felt like
not to know how you’d feel
moving inside me—
and I hate that my attention
can be pulled even for a moment
in your direction—
that I could give you any thought at all
after the careless way
you drove me to the edge
and dropped me off—
leaving me there for him to find—
and he keeps coming back to pick me up
to steady me
to take me wherever it is I want to go
and now he is the one I go home with
after we go to the grocery store
after I stand too long
in the cereal aisle
looking at the box of coconut granola
trying not to see your face
trying not to remember
your midnight ritual
your sweet tooth
your insatiable craving
I was never able to satisfy.

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DeMaris
4.16.24

Nothing

Nothing

By now
nothing 
is what I should expect 
after a day 
filled mostly 
with small intermittent joys 
like a pancake 
dotted with blueberries 
made with the sweetness 
of my new lovers wish
to make me smile 
before the day 
divides us
pulls us
pushes us back together 
for dinner 
that will taste so good
because we will make it together 
and our newness 
will be the thing 
that determines 
whether or not
I can keep forgiving him 
for failing to forget her
or if I move on 
before I get too close to him
to turn around 
on these occasions 
she shows up 
to tell me in his voice 
that just because 
he sits at my table 
and sleeps in my bed 
she is the one who hurt him 
so spectacularly 
that nothing I offer or give
will undo the knot in his chest 
she has tightened 
since she was 15 
and took him under the bleachers 
to touch him into madness 
and blame him 
for the swelling in her belly
that would have to be erased 
as completely 
as her parent’s expectation
that his love 
could really last forever.

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DeMaris
4.11.24

Old-Fashioned Appetites

Old-Fashioned Appetites

Sometimes I eat
one piece of bread
and butter
after I have eaten twenty
half-inch cubes of tofu
seasoned with garlic
and soy sauce
and I will have broccoli
or peas
or a salad too
because my mother
still rises from the earth
to ask if I had anything green
on my plate
and I want to say yes
without lying
so you see
she is alive
after all
still
making sure I obey
her lesson
making sure I remember
that she always
had my best interest in mind—
after all,
how could I expect
to get a man
to take care of me
if I didn’t stay slim
if I didn’t say no
to the bread
to the butter—
and if I said yes
to the sweetness of his body
too soon,
well—
she never said
I told you so
because she didn’t—
she didn’t tell me so.
My mother forgot to mention
how much weight
a teenage girl could gain
if she was consumed
by a boy
who didn’t have an appetite
for anything
but me
but in her defense
she loved me
too much
to think I should lift a finger
in this life
unless it was to excite a man
so much
that for the rest of his life
he’d want me
to wash his underwear
and make his bed
and his children
and his dinner
and always give him a plate
filled twice as full
as mine.

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DeMaris
4.2.24

“Girl Reading a Letter in an Interior” by Peter Ilsted, 1908

Rest Stop

Rest Stop

At the rest stop
along the interstate 
the bathroom
is a long row of empty stalls
each door open like a bored yawn.

I walk into one of them 
push the lock into place
then hear slow sweeping steps
and a little voice get closer—

No. Ma.
No. Ma. 
No. Ma.

Two monotone staccato words—
each a complete sentence
that sounded something like desperation 
mingling with a fear 
of I don’t know what—

the voice belonged to a girl
arguing with her mother—
a girl I couldn’t see—
a girl old enough 
to use a bathroom by herself 
if she wasn’t afflicted  
with what might be called
a mental handicap
or a birth defect 
or a syndrome 
or a condition 
or a disability
that probably has
an easily pronounceable name.

I saw four feet appear
under the stall beside mine.
I heard the mother pleading gently
with the kind of calm 
that comes after weathering
so many storms like this.

I heard her say please try to go
I heard her say it would be 
another three hours on the road.

Please try to go.
Please try to go.

And I kept hearing the little song—

No. Ma.
No. Ma.
No. Ma.

I heard frustration
begin to override patience
I heard
you’re going to go
I heard the soft crying 
saw the accidental splash 
onto the floor
onto the shoes.

How many times has that mother
wondered if she could do this again?
If she could she pretend 
in a public place 
that she had it under control.

Has she ever swelled with guilt  
when she wondered 
what her life could have been like 
if this beloved
and burdensome child of hers
had never been born?

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DeMaris
3.30.24 

Metamorphosis of Love

Love comes slowly
Cautiously
Doesn’t look anything
Like love
Looks like a friend
Talking to a friend
Looks like a friend
Waiting for a friend
To make up their mind
If they’ll go north or south
Love looks like
A destination
Where two friends
Could arrive
At the same time
It looks good
It looks something
Like paradise
It looks something
Like an advertisement
In a magazine
With a beautiful couple
Holding hands
Love begins
To turn the page
Love begins to fold
One heart over the other
Love begins to promise
Too hard
Want too much
Love endures multitudes
Of compromise
And sacrifice
For as long as it can
Before it becomes
Unrecognizable
Before it crashes
Into the same walls
It used to navigate around
Before it becomes
The wrong word
For what now means
I am bitter
I give up
I am empty
I am too full of holes
To carry you
Into tomorrow.
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DeMaris
3.23.24

Blinded

Blinded

How is it
most of us get through life
without losing an eye
we come close
so many times
we snip the end of a wire
that shoots rocket-fast
into the flesh of an eyebrow
we walk into the woods off-trail
and the branches of young trees
have nearly invisible end-points
that we dodge in a split-second
before they can render us handicapped
we tell the kids
to never point that gun into faces
but they do it anyway
and the Nerf bullets seem to never
hit the bullseye of a pupil
we pull the bungee cord so tight
we risk be blinded
if we lose our grip
and don’t get it hooked
before it snaps out of our hand
and busts our temple
we mow the lawn never knowing
if this will be the day
the unexpected stone
gets whipped into the orbit
of our imagination
but most of us
have both our eyes
maybe behind contacts or glasses
working like they should
operating with efficient reflexivity
but the one thing
they never know how to dodge
is beauty
which is sharper
and more dangerous
than any other hazard
because it can destroy you
even after you close your eyes.

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DeMaris
3.3.2024