Lovers

For Lucinda and Ira Easter Sunday and the decorations are out in store windows all fluffy marshmallow peeps and I have to return to when he raped me when I was ten, in the largest chicken-house on the farm. He leans against the feeders every holiday, with the crazed annoyance on his face, palms spread in wooden chips scattered with dung, and after it is over, he throws me an old workrag and watches with disgust as I wipe the stream of blood from my right leg. He touched my mouth then but before pushed me to the ground, he held my face there, screaming for me to get on my knees when I would not position myself. He held his weight over me and my mind could not find my body. As we drove back to town I watched as my folks whispered in the front seat and I felt like the black sky that allowed headlights to cast distorted beams on the trees. And they discussed how nice the service was and that so and so looked well... I learned what it was to spread my thighs for another as he guided me to his rhythm.