by Paula Persoleo

It's #tbt! Enjoy this great one from SWWIM Every Day's archives!

______________________________________________________________________

The female mates
only once

with her mid-
Atlantic blue.

That doesn't mean
this decapoda

can't survive
without him.

True, before
she's mature,

she's carried
under

the weight
of his shell,

russet pincers scratching
the surface

of the bay's
brackish floor

as she stores him
inside her

to spawn
over and over

alone
with her egg sac.

But
carnivore,

omnivore,
detritivore,

claws crack
clams

to support
a million minions

tucked tightly
to her carapace.

Once winter's
cold water comes,

she burrows
in the sand,

insulating herself,
isolating herself,

a scavenging
specimen

in the salty
estuary.

______________________________________________________________________

Paula Persoleo is a graduate of Stony Brook University’s MFA program in Southampton, NY. Her work has been accepted by Philadelphia Stories, Sheila-Na-Gig, Mantis, and Tulane Review. In 2018, she was nominated for the Pushcart Prize by Beltway Poetry Quarterly. She teaches in the MALS program at the University of Delaware and works at a nonprofit organization in Newark, DE.

by Paula Persoleo

He’s nothing but trouble, always has been.
You’d think a man might change after
all he’s been through. But no, came and left
—his favorite method—like twenty years
was twenty days. All that excitement over
an olive tree bedpost, then the wanderlust
replaced his other lust. And I’m supposed
to lock myself up, like I hadn’t tried that before.

Who am I supposed to be, the perfect queen
or the perfect wife? The mistress of the house
or the mistress of the town? He told me
about the other women—goddesses, sorceresses,
he couldn’t help himself, it’s all their fault—
but I have to sit here and wait. Let no man enter.
Too dangerous for me, a woman, even one
craftier than her loudmouthed husband
(who can’t help but give himself away
every time) while I outwit the nitwits eating
all the food in the house—like they owned the place.

Maybe he’ll stay gone this time. I’d like
to think in peace for once: maybe meditate
or make a hot yoga room, practice haiku,
unlearn weaving. Build a new bed for myself.

_______________________________________________________________

Paula Persoleo is a 2011 graduate of Stony Brook’s MFA program in Southampton, NY. Her recent work has been accepted by Philadelphia Stories, Mantis, and Tulane Review. In 2018, she was nominated for the Pushcart Prize by Beltway Poetry Quarterly. She lives and works in Delaware.

by Paula Persoleo

The female mates

only once

with her mid-

Atlantic blue.

That doesn't mean

this decapoda

can't survive

without him.

True, before

she's mature,

she's carried

under

the weight

of his shell,

russet pincers scratching

the surface

of the bay's

brackish floor

as she stores him

inside her

to spawn

over and over

alone

with her egg sac.

But

carnivore,

omnivore,

detritivore,

claws crack

clams

to support

a million minions

tucked tightly

to her carapace.

Once winter's

cold water comes,

she burrows

in the sand,

insulating herself,

isolating herself,

a scavenging

specimen

in the salty

estuary.

_______________________________________________________________________________________

Paula Persoleo is a 2011 graduate of Stony Brook’s MFA program in Southampton, NY. Her recent work has been accepted by Panoply, Beltway Poetry Quarterly, and Sheila-Na-Gig. She is an adjunct at the University of Delaware and lives in Delaware with her husband.