Dear Larry,
The day I learned your name was the day
I execrated the female body. Her palms acclimated to
being bound up with contorted knuckles and tape, only softened
by springboards and white chalk. How long is a doctor’s
appointment supposed to last? An hour, a life
sentence? The length of a drone strike? Your eyes keyed
into her ribcage, her mouthcage, her thighcage, her soul.
“Dismount” is to leave an apparatus
at the end of a routine; usually done with a difficult twist
or salto; to take a mechanism to pieces. It was you
who stained her first maxi pad, drew the copper
blood of a girl who still believed that a gold medal could pay
for what you stole. You kinked her tightly wound coiffure into
elflock, you offered no comb, you never fixed
what you broke. Dead is the pity
poised in the judge’s eyes, a landing
unstuck. One hundred and seventy-five
years will never unburn the soles of her feet.
Goliath was a woman, a force unchallenged by
sword or stone until God (a man) sent David (a man)
to throw rocks (a phallus) at her mighty stature – a spectacle
for kings (all men) to revel. You found a chink
in her armor, you reminded me that no woman can ever be
too careful, too covered, too poised or too pure.
Dear Larry, you taught me how to lust after
vengeance rather than justice. You taught me that
Some sentences never deserve the peace
of being finished
Kiley Roach is a Drake University undergraduate Honors student studying Political Science and English Theory and Criticism. She has been studying the art of reading and writing poetry under the direction of Kyle McCord, 5-times published author and Co-Executive Editor of Gold Wake Press, for two consecutive semesters. She hopes to eventually pursue a career in higher education administration but enjoys writing about women, sexuality, and politics in her spare time. This is her first time having her work publicized.