by Allison Field Bell
Other Allie married a man from high school. Or college. A good decent man with a good decent job. Other Allie gave birth to two children in her twenties so she could be a young, active mom. She had a girl child and a boy child. Other Allie nursed both with diligence and love. She wants them to grow strong and whole. And while her children and her husband sleep, she roams room to room, not from insomnia or a wild creative impulse, but from satisfaction. From delight. Contentment. The sight of little bodies breathing deeply, tucked under quilts. The sound of a husband snoring lightly. She runs her hands along the photographs in the hallway: a wedding, a honeymoon, a trip to Yosemite with infants—all that granite, all those ponderosas. Other Allie has a good decent job that pays her enough to live, to raise her family well. Vacations to Disneyland. A big trip across country or maybe to Europe. Other Allie doesn’t run up credit card bills. She doesn’t have student loans. She doesn’t have a PhD either, but she doesn’t need one, never had the desire. More school. More time spent not raising a family, not putting money into her retirement account. Other Allie has never touched a drop of whiskey—doesn’t like the stuff. She’s never watched her face melt in a mirror on acid. She’s never smoked a cigarette—why would she? Cancer sticks, she calls them. Other Allie takes care of her body. She does yoga every day, and she’s an excellent runner. Running the country roads of northern California. Other Allie never left California. The redwoods and the vineyards and the grandparents so close by. Other Allie didn’t move to Indiana or New Mexico, Arizona or Utah. Other Allie never stayed all day in bed. Never had trouble peeling her body off the floor. Never gained thirty pounds from antidepressants and mood stabilizers. Doesn’t know what benzos really are or why someone would take them. Other Allie can’t understand why people aren’t just more positive. Optimistic. That good good energy. Other Allie doesn’t pay attention to politics or art. She has two little children with their pressing desires to build forts and play flash light tag. Other Allie builds forts and plays flash light tag. Other Allie loves the ocean but not because of its freedom. She loves to see the ocean through the eyes of her children: that expanse of blue. The curling whitewater. The rocky shore. The possibilities. Other Allie imagines the possibilities of a life without children. Without husband. Without all the good good energy all the goddamn time. Other Allie maybe wishes she were another Allie. A woman in the saguaro-studded desert, weaving between cacti, one lone set of footprints in the sandy dirt.
Allison Field Bell‘s debut poetry collection, All That Blue, is forthcoming in 2026. She is also the author of two chapbooks, Without Woman or Body and Edge of the Sea. Find her at allisonfieldbell.com