By Samantha Shanley
@Simshanley
“You’re a different person,”
my husband said.
This was years ago
now.
Thank god
he was right.
I had hidden it
without knowing
the way one ought
to know.
Later, after he
left
because I told him
he must
He walked
waltzed
into the garden
where I struggled
with the peonies
again.
I hated yard work.
Besides, for years
I had been raising
our babies.
Women with money
like me
paid
for the help.
But he didn’t like that.
Now
I knew that
just because
he knew
how to make
my body
work
didn’t mean
I had
to let him.
“Look at you!”
He laughed.
I looked at him.
“The kids are inside,”
I said
and turned back to
my work.
I wondered
could he see it
in my face
How I could have
cut a man
taken flesh
with the blade
of rage.
I had dragged it
around
without knowing
the way one ought
to know.
Anyway
this house
was mine now.
He shuddered
and turned
to go,
though he still didn’t
understand.
I stood shaking
on my ground
clippers in hand.
“Enough,”
I said to myself.
“It’s over now.”
There was no
need
to strike
For I had won
already
the agency
of all time.
Samantha Shanley is a writer and mother of three. She teaches writing at GrubStreet in Boston, and her essay work can be found here. She is working on a memoir about matriarchy, identity, and growing up in a complex, blended family.
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