when it first starts
I feel enormously small
as if everything in me has been diluted
blood soft and pink, lost in everything that’s happening,
your weight squeezing me into steam,
it’s faster than I thought, and I think of a cruel joke,
but saying it would only absolve you
as if we both wanted it, so I’m silent, still,
when your body rolls off me,
and when you look at me from the doorway, I look back, unblinking,
replaying what you’ve done on the screens of my eyes.
in some awful mockery of paternal love, you throw a blanket over me
as if your hands were not enough to hide me even in the darkness
Kate LaDew is a graduate from the University of North Carolina at Greensboro with a BA in Studio Art.