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"The Beast"
When I ask her what it sounds like she says it grunts, it drools,
it's hunched over and grinning. When I ask her who it is, she says it's her.
When I look her in the eye and ask, is it talking to me now? Is it the beast talking when you talk?
She thinks for a minute, and says, no, it's curled up. She's talking, but it's watching her.
Later that night, I make love for hours. I forget my name, where my arms are, what
my tongue is doing. I think I must have cried out unimaginable things and I think of my sister
in the next room, lying on her back, blinking in the dark. The next morning, we make coffee and talk about the beast again.
My sister is rinsing out her cup when she turns and says, slowly, it's male, you know.
She looks surprised.
—Marie Howe
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