I have procrastinated about writing this to you for 45 years. Even now, my heart is pounding and my foot is tapping. I am angry at you and I’m angry at me.
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We speak of this over decaf
coffee, over countless afternoons
as the sunlight simmers, as the shadows
stretch slowly like a cat across the carpet…
Over the years I chastised myself for being naïve, for inviting him to stay the weekend. That second guessing is what stopped me from telling anyone and stopped me from reporting it to the campus police. I couldn’t be convinced I wouldn’t be blamed. And I think part of me was concerned the carefully constructed woman I was becoming would be undone.
He tapped into all of this. He also took his time to make me believe how special I was in his eyes. He didn’t sweep me off my feet. He was much more thorough than that. He invested praise, time, and money in me. He convinced me he loved me, and that anything he asked of me came from his love for me…
[to listen to the author read his poetry, click Read More below]
Christ
He ripped me a new one.
As I stared into porcelain wails
His holy reflection guided me, gracefully,
To dissociation…
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