Oysters, Poetry and Rollercoasters
CW: This piece contains sensitive themes around death and sexual abuse.
When I wonder if I saw dad’s dead body
or simply imagined it beneath the sheet
after school that winter’s day,
I . . .
When I try hard to remember the name
of the man who took my virginity
then dropped me at the side of the road,
I retreat . . .
When I remember my new stepfather’s
flabby tongue probing my mouth
while Mom is out running her errands,
I retreat into . . .
When, the morning of my thirtieth birthday,
I tell my mother I’m tired of that shit,
and she responds, “Oh, he’s still doing that?”,
I retreat into my . . .
When I find my true love at the age of fifty
and the gynecologist tells me
that it’s time to stop believing in miracles,
I retreat into my private . . .
When, mere months after our wedding,
you admit that you don’t love me
after I’ve given ‘til the well has run dry,
I retreat into my private world
of oysters, poetry and rollerskates.
Kelly Moyer can often be found wandering the mountains of North Carolina, where she resides with her husband and two philosopher kittens, Simone and Jean-Paul.