by Susan Simonds
The Score
My body knows the sum
total of quick-quick heartbeats
adrenaline too sick to fight
too heavy for flight
So long I lived in a house powered
by anxiety, my fears woke me
from dreams sweating
worried the wrong one
was sleeping next to me
Years later I still feel ample
hands pushing me down, enormous
feet punting my stomach
I still see the miniscule shadows of small rocks and
twigs on the pavement, eye level with me
I still hear the car approach, the woman screaming
Stop! You don’t do that to a woman!
and you don’t do that to a man, either
I remember thinking
as I opened my eyes to watch him run
she opened her passenger door to let me in
I decided against involving authorities
[I believed I should carry your reaction
on my back alone]
as I sat in the woman’s backseat
staring at her Victoria’s Secret bag
how I hated its Pepto pink
inviting me to vomit, empty
my stomach of this incident, but I didn’t
I let her take me in
and back to the party
And you went free to tell lies
and I went free to therapize
and even now a part of me dies when I think I’ve spotted you in the wild
Q Train
Every day I do not witness
outlines of your eyes engraved in the left side of my brain
I will present to myself
a silver medal on a silver string
When I gather enough
I’ll stack them in a box
walk to your door
dump them on your hardwood floor let them bury you
so I never have to picture you
again
Soft Cell
your favorite song was tainted
love, and wasn't it just?
once you ran to me
[once you accidentally kicked me
once you kicked me on purpose]
then I ran from you
and it wouldn’t be tears
would it
that I would take from you
[mine would flood the riverbanks
of my brain, feeding weeds of disesteem]
but vitriolic words spat like venom
at any mention of how I felt
when you took me time and again
[for a ride, for a fight]
without my consent