the bathroom of the clubhouse
only accessible by key. blue tile, clorox,
candy-stripe dress: a vignette. almost sixteen,
hair caught between my back and blue
and the baby blue. I don’t remember
the cum on my stomach but I know
it was there. I remember the frame
of the mirror, now: static reflection.
show me when I became aware
that the wretch was more than a wretch.
show me when I noticed the chains,
when I became them, when we were one
in the same. show me the right blood
on the floor, the bad blood, the red hair,
the red hands. give me the name
of the god who caused this, whichever one
heard the stripling give up his will
and sent me his hands, rivets
by definition. answer me, damn it.
I know you can hear me.
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