peel potatoes by Isabella Kanczuk (17, Massachusetts)

[Content warning: domestic abuse]

i wish i had remembered how it felt to fly. 

​red tape wrapping. 
tenuous hands clutching. 
gritty plates shoving. 

he focused through, placid by the resonating light and haunting model dreams.
while chasing in all lucidity, feeling gravity beneath, and exceptionally bound by the unwanted. 
nothing is more dignified than a textbook contradiction.

---

but not for me. 
not for me. 

every said word radiated, squeezing hearts tighter. and tighter. 
the voluminous regret is like an ocean wave adding to the world’s creation.
though, I love He. 

i wish i had remembered how it felt to follow. 

my grandma gently turns on the oven. she’s already super excited
to cook. to provide. to aid. to feel 
needed. wanted. essential, she wishes 
to be. that’s the least she could do. or so grandma was thinking. 

perfect blood seizing. 
opaque emptiness listening. 
tangled hair f a l l i n g. 

i wish i had remember how it felt to confine.
the known leaving. 
slippery, sweet, syrupy words sticking. 
self-misery, powerfully giving. 

why? grandpa approaches grandma. he tenderly kisses her forehead, then more
aggressively, tightly grabs her waist. no reply. why? he does not retire. never. never has.
never will. prickling her hourglass. with more strength every second. thoroughly refusing to stop. 

why! he marches to his room, seizes a cigarette, lights it up, and thrusts it on to her cheek.
salty, teary, and red. 
one slap. another. and another. 
he strides out, hands bleeding, teeth peeling, chest grinning, refreshed. 

i wonder what would –– 
do you? 


my grandma laboriously unlatches the locked pantry, when she hears the ecstatic voice of
her husband; is it ready yet. licking his lips. the appetite of a wolf. the face of a lamb, a white
one. sorry, not yet; grandma replies. she did not have to be sorry, but she would soon have
to be. 

why? grandma approaches grandma. he tenderly kisses her forehead, then more
aggressively, tightly grabs her waist. no reply. why? he does not retire. never. never has.
never will. prickling her hourglass. with more strength every second. thoroughly refusing to
stop. 
opening the mouth. 
vacuumed fear sucked in. 
throughout the souls of me and you, heavy rain poured in 
half baking a smile. 
eyes weighing me up.
my grandma proceeds to peel potatoes, wiping her tears with a napkin, resentfully naked.
she never learned to read, but she managed to interpret the instructions on the back of the
rice container, thinking about all his lies. 

nobody ever found her out. 
nobody saw her break down. 
nobody saw the empty space. 

free from pain, 
free from lies, 
free from tears. 

but the rage inside has slowly flared. 
but you ultimately never felt anything within.​