At the Party, One Year Later

It takes five minutes before I

see him again, in the corner 

of some shitty college basement. 

Of course, I am 

bleeding tonight, the blood 

pooling & collecting between my legs.

My body, then, an autopilot of loss, 

a persistent reminder that I have once again 

failed to grow something. My body, 

creating a home only 

to destroy it. He looks at me for a moment, 

before brushing past to join a horde 

of white women. He doesn’t want to see 

you either, some guy tells me. I don’t know 

if this is a threat or an apology. All around me is 

flimsy kissing & fucking. I watch people insist 

on folding into one another. The body knows 

to become what has been 

done to it. There’s some couple grinding

on each other, and all I see is my body & its blood 

roped off behind caution tape. 

I see him touching a girl’s waist 

& I forget rage. I remember him 

taking off my pants, splitting 

my body open, & seeing only 

his face scowling back.

Anonymous