Hurt
- Hurt
You are the beautiful halfOf a golden hurt.
–Gwendolyn Brooks
It’s always methat bringsthe ugly—the afghan, the fatgrey catin the way,the backof my head—Not tonight,honey—pressedto a man’s face.
Few have graceenough to tryand change it,to love it down.
Cause Iam the girlwho rode her biketo a worldten milesover the state lineat thirteento kiss a boy.
That day,on my wayback into Florida,all I wantedwas to say, Yes!I have somethingto declarefrom Georgia—the boy I lovebruised my necklike a peach [End Page 104]
with his teeth.I ought to beinspected,officer,detained even.I amwater-wild,beach baby,I am the yeskind of girl,not the maybe.
But I had seensomething else—if you trust,if you leaninto somethingimpossible,it’ll drop you flaton your ass,on the banana seatof a hot pinkHuffy, your legspedaling theseasick airfor the nextthirteen years. [End Page 105]
Heather Foster lives on a farm in west Tennessee. She teaches English and Humanities at Jackson State Community College. Her poems and stories are featured in PANK, Anderbo, Monkeybicycle, Graze Magazine, Superstition Review, RHINO, Weave Magazine, South Dakota Review, Word Riot, and Mead: The Magazine of Literature and Libations.
