Things You Can Remember – Caitlin McGuire

May 7, 2009 § 1 Comment



Doppelganger - Elena Harding

Doppelganger - Elena Harding

Her heart beats like rain on a tin-can roof.

You can never remember the face

of the person that hurt you the most.

She can remember the sound

of his voice when he asked

what the fuck do you think you’re doing?

and she can remember the way

her voice couldn’t squeak out anything more than

please don’t do this

She can remember the way his fingers felt

pulling up her skirt, putting his hand between her legs

his hands were hot

and the way her body froze,

unable to defend itself

her thighs were frozen stiff

She can smell the beer on his breath

the bitter hops, the stale tobacco, it’s trite, but it’s true

She can taste what she can smell,

it’s that ingrained in her.

And she can remember the people watching her,

she can remember your sad, stupid face

while you made no move towards her,

even though you were the king of superlatives,

never been more in love than I am with you

the most perfect girl I’ve ever met

the smartest,

the prettiest,

the epitome, the best, the greatest

iloveyou iloveyou iloveyou

She can remember the way that

her body braced itself,

and that Daphne’s myth had left her completely

unprepared for literal rape,

and the fact that the boy on top of her

looked absolutely nothing like Apollo,

or at least nothing like the way they described him

in The Theogony, and she just barely remembers

thinking that she’s probably the only person

that ever contemplated Hesiod before being raped.

And she remembers her savior came

by the way of an opened door

and one of her many best friends yelling

what the fuck do you think you’re doing?

echoing the threat,

but sounding like a hallelujah chorus.

She remembers the brush of air as he

ran out the door, ran out of the room,

and she remembers feeling numb,

and losing contact with the yelling in the room,

mostly aimed at you and your body sitting in the corner.

She remembers that no one touched her after that,

and that you left her, and said

you led them on, you slut, you whore

not the iloveyous she was used to,

not when she needed them the most.

She can see the scars from

burns she gave herself,

and her hipbones jutting out from her body

because nothing tasted good anymore.

There are nights she can’t remember anything,

and these blackouts are a saving grace.

And she remembers all of her friends leaving her,

because she wasn’t the most fun anymore,

just barely more than a shell,

and with everything she remembers,

she can’t remember the face of the boy

who tried to put his fingers inside her

and ruined her for forever.


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