Why I Didn’t Report

Because even while it’s happening,

I’m working to forget,

numbing myself the way some spiders

paralyze their prey

………………(sweet balm of oblivion)

 

Years searching for an other self

……..not trapped in flesh (untouchable)

 

Because I wore (should not have worn)

stockings? shorts? a lime-green dress?

……Details washed away

……leaving only a stain.

 

Because he was a teacher.

 

Because it wasn’t rape.

 

Because a girl learns

how the world will treat her body

………………………..and her words.

 

Because months later when his name came up at dinner

and I told,

Dad kept eating, Mom laughed nervously,

then switched the topic.

 

Recently my aunt let me know

about their childhood trip to the movies,

how in the dark, the man

beside my mother snuck his hand

into her lap.

 

(Perhaps it wasn’t laughter.

Perhaps she made a strangled sound.)

 

See, my memory’s not believable,

too full of holes.

 

Two things I know for sure –

How his fingers marked me.

The soft click as he locked the door.