Luck

Luck has happened to me in a lot of ways. For instance, the summer before I turned eleven is the summer that my great uncle moved into the soldier's home. My father bought his house and what was to be a glorious summer was dedicated to the improvement and renovation of my great uncle's home. I don't remember what my father and I fought about that day, but I decided his words were egregious enough to make me leave. My house was 15 minutes away by car, so I hoped that I would make it back on my bike. I pedaled, hard and heavy. When I got to a specific intersection--and I don't know why I did this--I stopped. I moved onto the sidewalk and stood. My mother had gone home but, I knew, was on her way back to my great uncle's house. So I waited for a moment before pushing my bike to someone's front door. I wasn't crying when I knocked and asked the women who, in some trick of memory, had kind, if confused, eyes. I didn't start crying when I asked to borrow her phone, a request which she obliged. The house smelled odd, like other people's houses do. I typed in my mother's number with deliberate, shaking hands. And when she answered a confused hello to the unidentified number calling her, I sobbed out a shaky, "Mom?"

The luck is this: the woman who answered the door was not a pedophile or murderer, at least not on that day; she let a dirty, sweaty tomboy borrow her phone without more than a second thought; my mother saw an unrecognized number and, in her faith in humanity, decided to answer my call. The luck is this: she was right around the corner when I called; the woman in the house gave me tissues; I was fine.

***

I certainly have written since the spring, but posting has been a little dicey. Not all of my thoughts fit easily into the blog post genre. Beyond this, my emotional state remains murky--not dark, just unsure. It can be difficult to know where to place my emotional foot; the ground shakes. But this memory presented itself very clearly and would not be rerouted to the recycling bin. Which, in my opinion, seems to be about 90% of writing: what can you not, not say?

***

What I have to say is this: everything is messy, luck is everyday, I feel everything.

***

“woMEN”

wHISper please: (don’t) know.

mUSt be Italian (i.e. fra

gi(r)l

e:

The way(AYY girl!        whassup)

these knots(not (hopefully) FGM scars

and nonconsensual)blow(jobs) through

my ribcage is the kind (an adjective for men who

do “women

‘s” rights) of

hap(penstance

(i.e. lucky-it’s-not-happening-to-you) hap)

piness that hurtsMy(ithurts)

particles arranged (child marriages for 150 million girls in the next decade):

Crystal(was a girl I knew, raped by trustedsomeone#7)

line and fractured(like bones of women killed for dowries in India)

I stare and watch(in the same way as Mr. 14-year-old-porn-voyeur, but not as de

hUman

izing) the other particles flOat(like bodies of prostituted children)

free (i.e. unlike 27 million people enslaved worldwide)

Not trapped (like survivors of domestic violence)

by the way they lay(with men—slut, whore. Or don’t—

queer, dyke, butchbitch. But always: pussy-cunt-worth(less))

And I think:

You lucky, lucky bastards

wHISper please: don’t you know

*

“Valley Girl Victim”

It’s like,                              

so just like,

whatever it was that time

when I dated Jeff!

Omigod! Yes!

I was just about to guess!

He was, like, so particular

about everything you ate.

That’s, like, so true!

Who was that boy that dated Sue?

He stopped her, like, having friends

or, like, whatever.

Yeah. He was like Chad.

He just, like, made me sad.

It was, like, I wish

it was different.

Oh my gosh, honey, I know!

He always made you feel so, like, low.

How many times a day

did he mold your face like a master of clay?

List the times he said you were lacking

when you didn’t vomit after snacking.

When was the last time you said

yes (and meant it) on a bed?

Just, like, tell me about

your personal doubt?

Is your body—

tanned, worn, made up (to your his liking)—your body?

*

“Medusa’s Pub(l)ic H(umiliation)air”

Excluded from your

history lesson is

whathappenedafter,

the undisclosed events in

Athena’s temple. (Really,

I didn’t choose the venue.)

After explaining to her,

goddess of justice,

the extremity of the violation—

shamed in bonnet and glasses—

we reached an understanding.

(Hair (down there) is,

apparently,

as easily changed.)

P.S.

When he asked to

“go out”

again, no

amount of water

could’ve unshaped

that

stone.