It was another summer where I was waiting to find him,
the sparkling apparition. All wide eyed, shoulders like concrete.
They said I was wrong when I found her instead. The ivory woman
and her mouth. The ivory woman and my mouth.
We kissed until our teeth were chipped and lips bruised lavender
whenever we had the chance. When I told the hollow mouthed boy about her,
I could feel the dirt road stare, hear the thoughts of pornographic outtakes.
He told me I should leave her for a man’s touch. Those words were oily,
slicked back with hair grease, the same kind in those old movies. Like that one
with the cat named Cat. Where they laid in strangers’ beds to forget everything
they knew they couldn’t, and I know I’m more like them than I’m willing to admit.
I try to forget about the beer can boy from that night a long time ago. His brick body,
the white wall. The white wall. The white wall blurred. The white wall
smeared with blood, his blood. I wish it ended up that way. But even when I’m
far from their dirty fingers and sharp tongues, I’m still waiting for them to come after me.
Their insatiable appetites. But now I’m ready for them, a knife in each hand, wanting blood.
Cassoday Harder is a twenty-year-old photographer inspired by youth, femininity, and summer. View more of her work on Flickr or visit her website.
