JOANNA C. VALENTE

WHEN MY HUSBAND COMES HOME AND MAKES ME PUT ON A CHEERLEADER OUTFIT AND CALLS ME VANESSA 

 

He comes into 

the room and I 

 

don’t say 

 

it’s the wrong name 

because it won’t matter.

 

He’ll say it anyway. 

Maybe it’s the right one

 

and my body is dressed

like a tiny satan coiling

 

over a man’s heart the way

satan says what you’ve

 

always wanted and gives

you exactly 

 

the thing

 

and you are the thing 

for him and you want to be

 

that thing for him more than

you’ve wanted to be alive,

 

wrong name or not.

 

Because none of that matters.

All that matters is 

 

what you call each other

without opening your mouths

 

or breathing 

 

without being

commanded.     

 

MY DUMB HUSBAND IS FROM THE MOON

MOON VENUS

In a dream I am a

letter to you and I am mailed 

to the moon

 

where you live and

sometimes you read me, so clumsy

with the things in

your hands

 

but it’s a clumsy that

begins with love and doesn’t end

like a song, a kind of

blues like a pristine

 

corpse who only

remembers when Bruce Springsteen said, 

when you’re alone,

you’re alone. 

 

You tell me you are

afraid of being alone and I stroke

your face and tell you

not to be afraid of that anymore. 

I can breathe on the

moon, I say, somehow.

 

Maybe I was born here,

I say. Maybe you created me

in from an ocean on

the moon that no longer exists

because I stole all

the water from it, ribs built

 

from fish that used to

be alive. My body is open

like a casket waiting

for another body

 

to inhabit it, a swell

of salt, a thing that can’t be named

as holy but it’s the

holiest thing I’ve ever tasted

 

in a mouth built for

waters sinful as the first bite

into a nectarine, held

in the body like choking,

 

a kind of blood that

burns like wild fires

wanting to be held by

arms that can’t hold them, a contradiction

 

like water on the

moon, and here is my body

that is from the moon

that is from you and I don’t know how else

to be held. 

 

Bio:

Joanna C. Valente is a human who lives in Brooklyn, New York. Joanna is the author of Sirs & Madams (Aldrich Press, 2014), The Gods Are Dead (Deadly Chaps Press, 2015)  Marys of the Sea (The Operating System, 2017), Xenos (Agape Editions, 2016), Sexting Ghosts (Unknown Press, 2018), No(body) (Madhouse Press, 2019), and #Survivor (The Operating System, 2020). They are the editor of A Shadow Map: Writing By Survivors of Sexual Assault (CCM, 2017), and received a MFA in writing at Sarah Lawrence College. Joanna is also the founder of Yes, Poetry, as well as the senior managing editor for Luna Luna Magazine.