Shower Beer Baptism

By Shannon Black-Youel

You’ve gotta understand why I obey; why I slip the grease-stained jacket from his shoulders; why I don’t mention that Jamie and Lila are already in bed; why I tell myself at least he came home this time; why I inhale his scent, smoke and lust and lavender; why I always smell of roses.

You’ve gotta understand why I keep hushed; why I bite my tongue; why I suck away the blood that pools in my mouth in venomous red lagoons; why I never forget who puts bread on the table; why I grab him that cold one; why I just fucking smile, woman!; why I can’t keep the pantry stocked with apples or wild rice or that oatmeal where dinosaurs hatch from eggs but there will always be beer.

You’ve gotta understand why I pray; why I hold the bottle of fermented hops and thank god for my salvation; why I deliver that beer as he bathes; why I look into the seaglass eyes that gave me daughters; why I let the weight of the bottle be my deliverance; why I watch as foam bubbles crimson across his broken face; why I practice my screams and my helplessness and my sweetie, daddy slipped.

But you’ve gotta understand why I dream; why I garnish his outstretched hand with the bottle instead of his wet, steaming forehead; why I hide behind the walls of my cowardice; why I’ll make him pay next time. Why, probably, I won’t.

About The Author

Shannon Black-Youel is an emerging writer and civil rights attorney from Dallas, Texas.

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