Jennifer Franklin: As Antigone (2)

I am tired of everyone
telling me what to do.

For as long as I can remember
my mother told me how

I should feel, what to eat,
who to date, what clothes

looked good (and bad)
on my shape—which colors

I could pile in front of stunned
cashiers. During the first

hurricane, she said I would die
if I didn’t listen to her orders.

I grew up confusing opinion
with oracle. She reminded me

all men are dangerous, each time
I left the house alone. Even after

I moved four states away for college,
she sent me newspaper clippings—

warnings in the mail. She believed
I was safely married to a surgery

resident and drove five hours
to sit by my hospital bed and watch

as IV fluids hydrated me.
That winter, I wanted to end

my pregnancy, after losing
thirty-three pounds in seven weeks.

She joined my husband’s campaign
to keep me sick and expecting.

I visit a friend I haven’t seen in years,
and confide how afraid I am

for my disabled daughter when I’m dead.
Her husband tells me my daughter

is happy and oblivious and she
wouldn’t know if she were being raped

as if she has less sentience than a dog
chained to a pole in an overgrown yard.

Copyright 2023 from If Some God Shakes Your House (Four Way, 2023).

Jennifer Franklin’s collections include No Small Gift (Four Way Books, 2018). She lives with her husband and daughter in New York City.