by Denise Duhamel
MARRIED
I was the only one who vacuumed. When the fringe of the throw rug first got caught, I didn’t stop to gently pull out the fabric. I didn’t call out to my husband for help. Instead I kept vacuuming sure if I pulled the fringe hard enough, I’d win. Then I smelled something like burnt toast. The motor had stopped. I’d ruined the vacuum and the rug who were now married to each other, stuck. I took the whole mess to the dumpster, the wooden floor underneath cold that winter. Needless to say, I was the only one who loaded and emptied the dishwasher.
THE AMERICAN DREAM (DICTIONARY)
The alarm (common dream symbol to get our attention) finally wakes us and the American Dream (dream within a dream or “false awakening”) is just that, a dream. Night after night, we waved our flags (warnings, signals of distress). Sometimes we brayed, simple donkeys (feeling overburdened or stressed) or lifted our trunks like elephants (immersed in memory, holding on too long). We dressed in camouflage (hiding our true feelings from our true selves) and feared bogeymen (the repressed aspects of our own personalities). We gobbled hamburgers (symbols of dissatisfaction) doused in ketchup (a dream pun, our need to “catch up" on something). Our president told us he was genius (which means he was feeling inferior) and would build a wall (indicating childhood trauma, trying to keep others out for fear of getting wounded again). He became obsessed with deportation (signifying that he felt rejected himself). He kept yelling (fearing his voice did not matter or that his opinion did not count) even though he sat in the oval (feminine energy) office (evaluating himself on others’ terms). Meanwhile the rest of us were on our smartphones (feeding into our feelings of inadequacies) and laptops (relying too much on our social media). We were sure we were as American as apple (knowledge, wisdom, or sexual appetite) pie (getting our fair share, as in our “piece of the pie"). Like zombies (feeling dead inside), we shopped in malls (symbolic of materialism), kicking sluggish vending machines (things that are perpetually just outside of our reach). Then came the virus (unresolved issues affecting our psyches) and the quarantine (symbolic need to alter our actions before even more people get hurt).
Denise Duhamel’s most recent book of poetry is Second Story (Pittsburgh, 2021). She teaches in the MFA program at Florida International University in Miami.