Every day before I get out from between those wrinkled red sheets I think that I've been abducted by aliens. When I wake up there are new bruises red blue purple green black surrounded by yellow rings stamped onto my wrists ankles above my left knee close to my hip buried between the hair.
But then I remember that it's just you (although sometimes I wish it were extra-terrestrials, they'd be much easier to deal with explain to argue over kiss buy cozy cotton shirts girl-guide cookies trips back home).
But it's not. It's you and I'm the one who doesn't belong: the alien.
When I get into the shower (rule one: only on Wednesdays) I see the long bars forming over my heavy breasts, long thick nipples like coat hooks in U's turned up from the fatty tissue. Your bars. Fingers. Hands holding hard (down) my body making me think this is the truth think that hot coffee over my feet three front door locks with one key (yours) phone disconnected only nickels and pennies that equal 20 cents in my change purse is love. Ours. Explains the reason why I came. Why I left my mum my job my language (myself) to come to your country (where people frown if you slur words because your lips are swollen think you're slow if you can't understand how much they want for that week's groceries).
Those night trips to other planets come more and more now. I think that it has to do with the blackouts. After your hands are clenched too tight around my throat dry bicycle chains around my ankles tied to the legs of the wooden desk up against the wall on the other side of the room. Pulling my legs tight spreading them wide for your friend. The one that drives the rusted half-ton with the cartoon of a little boy peeing on a chevrolet logo stenciled on his back window. The one who always comes by after the baby's asleep after the coffee on the counter has turned cold and thick after I said no so softly under my breath when he pounds up the front steps carrying a six pack and his leather knife set with the big serrated blade (the one you said could cut all types of meat).
He's the friend who asked if he could. You laughed sucked at your pipe and nodded.
This is our love.
This is why I am so quiet on Saturday's bus ride from my house (rule two: grocery shopping day from 2 PM to 2:45 PM). Why I travel your roads live in my house feed my baby with your plastic Playtex nursers (the one with Pokemon painted in yellow on the side). Why I pretend I understand this language your foreign customs nod my head in agreement when I don't think you're right.
Why I let your best friend fuck me.
Why I am the alien here.
Sarah Glen has the same fears as you. And me.