Written by Kira Coleman
When you said that my gym shorts were literally
pornography, I thought about the apricot jam you used
to make, and the way you served us the sandwiches cut
into triangles and told us that was how fairies made
them.
When you said that my gym shorts were literally
sexually assaulting your sons — my cousins — I thought
about all of us out on the back deck, eating those
apricot jam sandwiches and flaking off the red paint.
I thought about all of us sneaking the hose into the
sandbox, the sprinkler under the trampoline.
You know, I used to have dreams about sitting in
your old kitchen, except the walls were covered in
sunflowers, the curtains over the sink fluttering in
the breeze. It hasn’t been that many years since
I did my laundry at your house every week, since
we ran the dryer until two in the morning and
I told you about waking up in the middle of the
movie with that awful boy’s fingers inside my
vagina.
So that’s what I thought about when I said my
shorts couldn’t be pornography since there was no
sex and you said that you could say the same
about what I said happened to me and being raped.
I was sitting at your table eating hummus and
pretzels, which I ended up throwing away. It had
only been a few weeks since the last time
we’d talked all night, when you said you were proud
that I’ve been finally finding my way in the world.
But tonight when I said I was sorry I’d come over
and I’ll never do it again, I think this time I really
meant it.
So I guess I’ll miss you and wish I’d asked sooner
for your apricot jam recipe — and wonder what you
all talk about at your turkey dinner the week before
Thanksgiving with your homemade rolls and my
favorite jello with the fruit inside and the whipped
cream on top. I guess I’ll remember what you said
every time I start to feel safe, to imagine that I could
come home.
.
Kira Coleman graduated from Fordham University in English and Creative Writing. She believes firmly that if something is both true and important, you have to share it in the best way you know how, which is why she is a poet.