Distraction
In bed two days before my trip, I whisper again
my terror of peeing in the woods. The phone
plug light makes stringy worm shadows on the wall,
just enough light for me see the smile before you
laugh. Don’t worry you say, reaching over, fingers
cold. You’re gonna do great. Your hands move
slowly, stomach, inner thighs, pulling me toward
you. I’m still thinking about shitting in the woods.
You’re grabbing my ass, handfuls of fat and cellulite.
Our bodies line up even after all these years. Our
mouths wet with each other. This is how you’ll
distract me. It won’t last but I’m grateful. Like
when you tell jokes as the plane rattles at 33,000 feet.
Reminding me to laugh just in case, before dying.
—————
M. Soledad Caballero is a Macondo, CantoMundo, and StoryKnife fellow. Her collection, I Was a Bell won the 2019 Benjamin Saltman poetry prize, was the 2022 International Association of Autoethnography and Narrative Inquiry book of the year, and a 2022 International Latino Book Award winner. Her second collection, Flight Plan, is due in September 2025 with Red Hen Press. Her work has appeared in the Missouri Review, the Iron Horse Review, the Ninth Letter Review, and other venues. She’s avid tv watcher, a terrible birder, and teaches at Allegheny College.