If by real you mean as real as a shark tooth stuck
in your heel, the wetness of a finished lollipop stick,
the surprise of a thumbtack in your purse—
then Yes, every last page is true, every nuance,
bit, and bite. Wait. I have made them up—all of them—
and when I say I am married, it means I married
all of them, a whole neighborhood of past loves.
Can you imagine the number of bouquets, how many
slices of cake? Even now, my husbands plan a great meal
for us—one chops up some parsley, one stirs a bubbling pot
on the stove. One changes the baby, and one sleeps
in a fat chair. One flips through the newspaper, another
whistles while he shaves in the shower, and every single
one of them wonders what time I am coming home.
Aimee Nezhukumatathil
Are All the Break-Ups in Your Poems Real?
Aimee Nezhukumatathil
what it means
The poet is asked the age-old question: did you make this up? First, she chastises the questioner: even if the details are made up, every dang emotion is real, and that’s what matters, right? Right?! Then, she answers flippantly that it is also real that she married all those men she broke up with and imagines her life with them all.
why I like it
She’s just having so much fun with this poem. I can’t wait to try the exercise, imagine what my ten husbands are doing around the house right now. And that last line is such a zinger, turning what seems like a rather nice fantasy into a not so nice one. This poem feels a bit like a stand-up comedy routine.
craft
I love the sounds in this poem just listen to “shark tooth stuck” all one syllable, all jabbing at you. And then “stuck” ends one line, “stick” the next, such fun with language. Did you notice this is a sonnet? Well, a blank verse sonnet. It doesn’t rhyme, but it does take some wild flights of fancy and contain them.