to harm her. My muscles go
rigid. I never told anyone. Now
someone will know. “Wait.”
He pauses, confused at jumbled
signals—my body screaming
yes, while my mouth says no.
It’s okay. I won’t hurt you.
My eyes sting. “I want to. I do.
But …” My face heats to flush.
I don’t want him to know. Don’t
want anyone to know. Tears spill.
Kyle brushes them gently away.
What’s wrong? The answer
he waits for is painful. But for
us to work, I have to tell him.
AN INTENSE
Shiver
quakes me, initiates teeth
chatter. Kyle hands me my shirt
like an offering. Waits,
silent,
as I launch the lurid account.
I can’t look at him while I recite
it. Instead I focus on a skinny
sapling
wearing a single crimson leaf.
I am the fledgling tree, weighted
not by wind, but by memory. I
bend
but refuse to break. I finish