Citation

O'Bernstein B. Missouri Review 2022; 45(4): 11-24.

Copyright

(Copyright © 2022)

DOI

10.1353/mis.2022.0046

PMID

unavailable

Abstract

After Plath The first time my body tried to kill me I was ten, wearing a white nightgown, calling through the window for my mother out in the garden. Blood was coming out of my backside again, and I didn't know what to do. The second time it happened, I was living in a family friend's empty apartment in Chelsea. The man I loved was using drugs and kept calling, crying and shouting, and I couldn't stop answering the phone. Actually, I couldn't breathe unless I was having sex with someone else, and then I could breathe fine. After cheating, I knocked a soap dish off the ledge of the bath, and it broke. My mind flashed to suicide and wouldn't let go. The next time my body came for me, I was twenty-three in Carrara in late August. My legs dangled over a marble window ledge, and at that height I could see the icy purple glicine scaling the stone houses and terra-cotta roofs. Italy had emptied out in deep August, and I bore a gnawing hunger for a man © 2022,Missouri Review. All rights reserved.

Language: en