Dear Larry, by Kiley Roach

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.