C.N.P Poetry 

  • Cathexis Northwest Press

THE TRUTH

By: Amanda Leal


In the morning, I succumb to the idea that everything must remain

as it was when my son left for his dad's house,

the empty wooden frames stacked on the kitchen table, waiting

for their fresh coat of paint, the laundry basket

with shirt sleeves hanging like dog ears, even the sheets

where I lay with my boyfriend last night, that I know must be washed,

the spot like crusted paint where he pulled out after sex.

The house hangs like a held breath, suspended

between life with and without my child here.

My boyfriend's snoring undulates like the motor of a parked car,

the kitchen bulbs hang like little mouths open, waiting

for me to give them light, and I realize,

this is how my life was swallowed.

When someone asks if my child was planned,

I want to pull the answer like a slender pink organ from my throat,

as though the truth retains a circulatory system inside me,

like I could explain the way I propped my legs on the wall

as his dad took a shower, until my feet turned into cold porcelain,

the way I made a decision even as I refused to,

when I told him that I did not know how it happened,

and almost believed myself. I could tell them

about my first pregnancy, the abortion pills handed to me in a brown paper bag

like a lunch sack, how I swallowed the universe

with the thought that I could dig it back out with my fingers

if I had to. Now, three years later, I turn on the switch,

and light floods my kitchen, like the light that only saw inside my body

when a speculum opened me from the outside.

I force myself to gather the laundry, the tiny shirts

that can fit across my forearm, his sandals that lay flush

in my palm. They wait for him even as I decide to keep moving,

they long for his return, they lay ready for our next steps forward.





Amanda Leal is a 27 year old poet from Lake Worth FL. Her work has been featured or is upcoming in literary magazines such as Levee Magazine, Sky Island Journal, Homology Lit, and others.

Quick Links
Contact Us
Need More Poetry?
Check Our Our Sister Press
HighSelfPress