Poetry |

“Myers-Briggs” & “Minivan Mafia”

Myers-Briggs

 

I took a personality test that claimed I was a passionate idealist, so I printed

off the results and flossed my teeth with them because I refuse to be

compartmentalized into eight different traits like deli meat tubs at a

sandwich shop, and who am I to deny what a computer has known

for seconds versus what I’ve known for a lifetime, most people don’t know

that Myers and Briggs were mother and daughter: Myers, a mystery

writer, typed as a purebred mediator, her mother, a teacher, unsurprisingly,

a devout advocate, mothers are often teachers, and vice versa, molding children

on baking sheets, perfecting the right ratio of tendencies and attitudes, they say

the baker is only as good as their baking, it’s no wonder that the two women

were only one trait apart, Briggs infusing aspects of herself, the daughter

prodded and smoothed, contained in her proving drawer, and I, at the

counter, pushing a rolling pin in my daughter’s hands, straining under the

burden of nurture, the recipe all mothers must carry, but never pass on.

 

 

*     *     *     *     *

 

 

Minivan Mafia

 

The minivan mafia is surrounding my house, their practical colored

vehicles forming an armored fleet, automatic doors slowly sliding

backwards to reveal the hungry drivers, diaper bag arsenals, grenade

in hand, gun in the other, knife strapped to their sensibly-clad thigh,

Old Navy stretchable waistband skin tight jeans, and I am tired of

scouting the perimeter, hunched by the windows, peering through

binoculars in search of their imposing ranks flanking down my

street, and when they run towards my home, it is a guttural sound

deep within their bellies that rises up and tumbles from their mouths,

the wet gurgling of dreams torn out by the root, and as they strike

me down, there is a chant beneath the rhythm of batons thwacking,

submit your intuition to our impossible standards, our spies who’ve

seen your misgivings in parenthood, who’ve condemned you as other if

you are not one of our impractically maintained unattainable horde.

Contributor
Ambrielle Butler

Ambrielle Butler is a writer and poet from Texas. Her poetry can be found in Valley Voices, Plainsongs, Giving Room Mag, Red Ogre Review and others. You can find her on Instagram and Twitter @AJButlerWriting.

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