Monroe part 1

By Kimberly Hoover

Go ahead, stare—

They call me rare but think

It has something to do with me

And that’s where

They’d have to swallow every false misery

They spat between green cud teeth

It’s too loose in the bearing

To say I turn my wheel upright

That destiny favored me

That I just persevered

Where others fell lazy

No, I am the daughter

Of war rebels

And I’m not talking

About my decorated fathers

But the women

That held their low backs

Until she screamed a bloody sac

A new life, into reality

No, I was born to a line

Of warrioresses

That crossed heavens in chariots

Whose un-bra-ed breasts

Fell loose beneath her tunic

Indifferent to her husband’s bequest

She’d made a thousand meals

And carried her feet through

Stained miscarriages

He knew nothing of defeat

I come from women

Who baked bread

After the bombs dropped

And spread minty toothpaste across it

Just to taste something different

I get told I’m just another statistic

Of ancestral trauma

7 generations they proved

In a rats test

Is how long that sound will trigger paranoia

That I’ll feel every unwanted, obligatory fuck

Of a marriage

Every rape, every bruised eye

My greatest grandmothers weathered

Like it’s my own story, like it happened

Just a month ago, on some level

They’re right

Because I was forged in a plasma

Of ancient betrayal and modern labor

Of being a 9-5 winner, making dinner,

Defending human dignity

Which only ever seems to be about

Women, Theys and People of Color

I clean my rims, close the dishwasher and get treated like a lawnmower

Best kept in the shed or she’ll run us all over

because I can do it without him holding the door open

I never said I said I didn’t want your help

Just don’t have time to pin a god damn blue ribbon

on his shirt for being competent.

But me? I never had a choice.

Because I was born inside her mother

Inside her mother

Inside her mother

Inside her mother

Inside her mother

Inside her mother