This poem “golden rabbit” is about open relationship and whether we admit that we’re free.
Every relationship is an open relationship.
It’s a matter of whether
you admit you are free.
Old friend was standing in the kitchen–
I was wearing that yellow dress
men get excited by.
He looked at me, and I saw his eyes
widen because I was desirable
to him for the first time.
I can’t remember what he said.
We didn’t have sex then,
but we’re both still alive.
Every relationship is an open relationship
in the sense that you are probably not
with your partner 100% of the time.
The beautiful grocery bagger,
one second of eye contact.
You could have fucked her
a thousand times. Maybe when
you fuck your partner that night
or any night, it’s that grocery bagger
your dick is pushing up into
over and over until you gasp
and ejaculate deep against her cervix.
The imagination is where the most important
things happen, right.
Even getting married, having a baby,
finishing a marathon, breaking ground
on a new pineapple garden–
you do the physical act,
but you’re doing it inside.
We have a recording of the ceremony,
but in my heart I was tying a knot.
In my womb, I was promising to love him.
The outside part could be measured.
The inside part is infinite.
Every relationship is an open relationship,
but honesty can be very rare,
like the golden rabbit I see hop
behind a rock, and zoop–it’s gone.
It could last, or it could not last.
If we pretend our hearts and genitals
are locked up caged organs,
we’re the ones
who tricked ourselves.
I choose my spouse every morning.
I could go for a walk and keep going.
When he comes home, I say,
“Thank you for coming home.”