May the sound of my breakfast dishes being placed in the sink
be louder than memories of your father telling you
he’d love you even when, not if, you fail.
May it drown out the sounds of him rewrapping
your Christmas presents each year so you can
open them again and again, feigning surprise
under the tree at each grandparent’s house.
May you not hear your mother arguing
with the social worker or your older brother.
May you be allowed the focus of the protected
as you scour the job postings before lunch,
even if you must create that protection yourself
like a parrotfish safe inside
a sleeping bag of its own design.
About as Close as My Husband’s Ever Going to Get to a Love Poem
Jennifer Schomburg Kanke, originally from Ohio, currently lives in Florida. Her work has recently appeared or is forthcoming in New Ohio Review, Massachusetts Review, Shenandoah and Salamander. She is the winner of the Sheila-Na-Gig Editions Editor’s Choice Award for Fiction. Her zine about her experiences undergoing chemotherapy for ovarian cancer, Fine, Considering, is available from Rinky Dink Press (2019). She serves as a reader for The Dodge and as a Meter Mentor in Annie Finch’s Poetry Witch Community. She can be found on YouTube as Meter&Mayhem.