Outlets

There are bay windows

And bookshelves

And perfectly pruned rose bushes

And hedges

And vines that creep

And a lawn that glistens

All belonging to a house

Where Elizabeth lives

But there are no outlets

Elizabeth looks around and around

This gorgeous house

That her husband purchased

With money from his family trust

And even though there’s an indoor pool

And several acre-long patios

And a golf course that spells out

The family name—

There are no outlets

Elizabeth tells herself
That one cannot have everything

And that when one is given a house

With a ballroom and a bowling alley

One must make do without dribs and drabs

Like outlets and….Well, outlets

After all, outlets

Are the only thing

Missing

Elizabeth tells her husband about the outlets

As they sit across from each other

At the long, long, long table

In the dining hall

Everything about the house

Reminds Elizabeth of ‘Clue’

Which might also explain

Why she keeps imagining herself
As a murder victim

Found bludgeoned

In one of the many long, long, long hallways

She tells her husband about the outlets

And he tells her she’s mistaken

‘You’re mistaken,’ he says,

‘There are plenty of oulets.

Outlets everywhere!

You can’t walk five feet

Without finding an outlet’

And to prove his point

He gets up from the long, long table

Walks over to a wall

And—Yes, there it is—there’s an outlet

And Elizabeth feels foolish
And apologizes

And goes back to eating

Her duck a l’Orange

But later on, when she goes looking

For that outlet in the dining hall

She can’t find it

It’s gone

And though she walks the length

Of nearly the entire house

She can’t find any other outlets either

Five feet, ten feet, fifteen feet—

Nothing

She gets in bed with her husband

And sleeps facing away from him

When before, she’d always stare into his sleeping face

And beg forgiveness

For reasons she couldn’t explain

Forgive me, she’d think

But then she’d smile

And wind herself down

Like a clockwork toy

Years passed, and Elizabeth found herself

Making due without outlets

She gave up making toast

Or curling her hair

Or vacuuming

Whenever she’d tell her husband
That she needed to plug something in

He’d magically find an outlet

And look at her

As though she were the loveliest woman in the world

And it made her feel like the reflection

In a funhouse mirror

‘When you want toast,’ he said

‘Just have someone make it for you

You shouldn’t be vacuuming

Or ironing

Or doing anything

But enjoying the house’

‘Outlets,’ he said, ‘What do you need outlets for?’

But Elizabeth found herself

Touching the walls at night

Running her fingers over the spaces

Where she thought outlets should be

Making little circles and squares

Then plugging imaginary cords

Into them

Eventually, she’d return to bed

But not before looking at herself

In one of the many, many, many mirrors

That ran up and down the hallways

Her hair was a little grayer now

Her skin not quite as smooth

And her hands shook a bit

Well, maybe more than a bit

She lived in a house

With bay windows

And bookshelves

And perfectly pruned rose bushes

And hedges

And vines that seemed to grow longer and longer

With each passing day

They covered the windows

And the crept through the ceiling

Up through the floor

And around the bed

Where her husband slept

Elizabeth would run her fingers over them sometimes

Pricking herself on a thorn

She’d see a spot of blood appear

And think—

I suppose I am still here

After all

And as she thought this

The vines started pushing through the walls

So they could swallow everything up