Lauren Jacquish
A CHAMELEON IS A LIZARD IS A CONSTELLATION IS AN INCONSTANT PERSON

Numbing    forgiveness-salve
slathered on eyes     damned eyes,
to sit across from this              man
praised for handling his bossy woman   so well−
my she-ro,           my sister.           I see Tammy Wynette.
We’re slamming wine.         We’re   laughing.
I’m globbing it on thick. Blurring memory:    his hands
robotic extensions groping me awake     shudder
his stupid face     his stupid easy chair−
When I woke to it that night, all I said was,
You need to go to bed.
I may have rubbed forgiveness on too soon.

Manic       let me make this easy on you all
martyring thanksgiving forgiveness-turkey,
aching and incomplete
through-the-teeth-family-holiday.

I spread forgiveness on toast.
Mother’s Day, I pet his child’s head and lie,
Yes, it is fun that we’re all together.
I keep my head down,  butter the knife.
This is an art you see,               never looking him in the eye.
Can he hear me      thinking     we’d all be better off if he just−

This is my forgiveness-shield.     It deflects
arrows.            They ricochet like flukes      like pardon me.
It becomes       like nothing
to hold             up my arms      turn this way and that
to forgive and forgive.

Forgiving makes me a contortionist:
Pay two bucks to see my shoulders turn inward
hip-points turn inward.     The Human Clam
guards the heart           breasts             sex-power-root of the spine.

I’ve become something of a forgiveness-cave    world wonder.
Don’t touch anything
don’t    even     breathe
lest fungus take hold    damage the delicate forgiveness-façade.

In fact         stay out spelunkers         walk out backwards
seal the openings     and don’t tell anyone what you’ve found.
I want to say forgive me          as women often do
for asking you to leave, for being inhospitable, for being silent.


Author photo for Lauren JacquishLauren Jacquish is an editor, writer, and musician based in High Bridge, New Jersey. She works in early childhood education, is an English/Women’s and Gender Studies/Creative Writing graduate of Douglass at Rutgers University and holds an MFA from Arcadia University. She enjoys singing, dancing, and making terrariums with her kid. She is never going to die.

Read more from Cleaver Magazine’s Issue #26.

Join our other 6,249 subscribers!

Use this form to receive a free subscription to our quarterly literary magazine. You'll also receive occasional newsletters with tips on writing and publishing and info about our seasonal writing workshops.