Cotton Underwear, newly cleaned
5-year-old tighty whiteys
That was the first time.
Everything else is a blur
Until the words come to me at age 12
campfire, telling stories
take back the night
and then the blur comes back
photographs of memories
so much hard work to forget
but his body is always the same
gripping onto doorways,
and bus seats, same pose, same male body stance
I always managed to get away, after that first time
And I thought it couldn’t happen again
And I thought it couldn’t happen with a woman
Until that sweaty afternoon when I told her to stop.
but I never fought back when she didn’t.
She couldn’t have done it, she said she loved me.
And now as my body becomes more like his
I know that it is the subtle movements become my memories
I fear that I am creating these memories for others.