Saturday, April 8, 2017

Victim Sends Her Regards



After
We broke up,
I went
To the place
Where you used
To take me,
The park by
The lake
Where we kissed
For
The third time,
Where
Your sweaty
Breath held my
Attention,
Our hands
Young claws
Scratching
Innocence,
Sprouting blood
With each thrust
Of our tongues.

For a year
You cheated
On me
With a girl
One grade
Older
Than me.
Her name was
Karen.
She lived
Across
The road
From my street. 
I saw
Your car
At her house
Many times
Before
confronting
You
About it. 

The night
You left
My house
In a rush
Was the
Final straw.
I took
Your gifts,
Flung them
On your car. 
The little
Shepherd dress,
The Adam
Sandler
CD, 
The badly
Sprawled
Poetry,
Your plaid shirt
With
The missing
Button. 

You got
Revenge
By breaking
Into
My house
And stealing
My
Diary. 
You shared it
With Karen
And
Together
You made
Copies at
Some late night
Office place. 

The next day
You passed them
Out at school. 
My mother
And I
Called
The police,
Karen
Was
Suspended.
To this day
I’ve
Never known
So much hate.

At the park
I sat
After hours
Until
The darkness
Rang. 
Part of me
Wanted you
To find me,
To retrace
Where
We had been,
To
Remember
That kiss. 
I was empty
In
All places,
Even
The wrong ones.
A part
Of me
Missed you.

It’s been years
And I think
About my
Kisses since.
All those
Second
Guessings.
Sometimes
I picture
You
At
The copy
Machine,
You and your
Accomplice
Bride, 
Shifting
One page
From the flash
To perch
Another,
Intent
On my
Destruction.
I
Imagine
Your small lives,
And wonder
If you’ve felt
Enough pain
To know
The sickness

Of your ink.

—Erin Passons, 2-2013
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