I was not the target
I was collateral damage

Hey, new girl.

Covered completely and yet I felt naked, filthy with the grime of adolescent appraisal…

I’ve contorted my name

I have procrastinated about writing this to you for 45 years. Even now, my heart is pounding and my foot is tapping. I am angry at you and I’m angry at me.

We speak of this over decaf
coffee, over countless afternoons
as the sunlight simmers, as the shadows
stretch slowly like a cat across the carpet