When she was fourteen
she’d dream of splitting her daddy’s head open
with a hatchet,
then calmly shooting her mother, her sister
and her brother,
one by one:
going room to room
and doing each one in
with a single bullet.
Then she would wake up,
her pussy wet and tingling,
and she’d be shaking as she got out of bed
to get a glass of water
instead of a hatchet
and a gun with three bullets in it.

She turned thirty-three yesterday
and when she went to sleep last night
she thought about the kisses goodnight
she gave to her husband and kids
like one, two, three
and she dreamed of a hatchet and a gun with three bullets,
then woke up wet,
shaking but calm,
thinking about how menopause was closer
but still so far away.