cw: domestic violence
it’s always the deepest insults about each other’s mothers and slammed fists 
that stir the initial screams and why would I want to get married after all 
the broken glasses and the witching hour sob fests in your stained nightgown 
while my sister shakes with the arctic winds, we might as well be permafrost 
with the frigidity you fuel between the two of you, between the remote 
and the tv, between the same monster of the week shows running and running but 
no matter how hard they sprint, they can’t begin to compete with the marathon 
of your fighting, of your repeated complaints and lack of restraint which 
never surprises me, the bomb always threatens to detonate if I forget to cut 
the blue wire – or is it the red? – either way I’m so drained from this role I never 
asked to perform, no one ever asks me if I want to be a domestic diffuser, I’m not 
good at spotting every spark, and now that I’m thinking about it maybe the yellow 
wire is the one that leads to the heart, the one that runs through your ring finger, 
or so we thought, and I can’t remember where I left the wire cutters but they’re 
somewhere and I hope I can find them before the chill drifts in 
and our doors begin to weep.
Briana Gonzalez is a Chicana, queer poet, as well as a student at Texas State University. She has pieces published in Aberration Labyrinth and Coffin Bell. Outside of crafting poetry, she enjoys watching the night sky, binge-watching movies, and spending time with loved ones.
header image: Dima Pechurin via Unsplash