I told my husband. "Let's go
to a faraway island. It's not safe
here anymore."

He claimed life was not worth living
without plumbing.
I said, "We can bury it."
He said, "I'm not burying my own shit."
"I'll bury it! I'll bury everything!"

We bought a tiny island.
Hired men to build our three-room house.
When finished, they were paid to return in one year.
Canned food filled our home.

My husband and I sat. Time was slow.
The year passed with a few fights about boredom
and shit. A month after the anniversary: no plane,
no helicopter. I asked my husband
if, when we ran out of food, he'd kill
himself and let me eat him. He said yes, but he lied.

Cat Dixon teaches creative writing at the University of Nebraska, Omaha. She is the secretary of The Backwaters Press. Her work has appeared in Sugar House Review, Midwest Quarterly Review, Temenos, Coe Review, and Eclectica, among others. Her full-length book, Too Heavy to Carry, was published this spring by Stephen F. Austin University Press. Her website is catdix.com.