What I Learn
By Lorna Rose
I listen to the sweaty silence,
his throbbing presence as he stares at
my developing chest.
I learn to calculate the tides.
Learn his breath smells like mints when he’s offering me up.
Men’s gazes have teeth.
Pivot and scan for the response he wants
at the appropriate time.
You’re pretty. Perform for me.
Legs and boobs get you far. They open doors
to bedrooms
where all good girls go.
Learn to hide and calculate the tides.
Aren’t you proud you made your father happy?
Lorna Rose is a Pacific Northwest writer and speaker. Her narrative nonfiction and poetry have been recognized by Pacific Northwest Writers Association and the Oregon Poetry Association, and have appeared in About Place Journal, Third Wednesday, Jellyfish Review, Scary Mommy, and elsewhere. Lorna also speaks publicly on motherhood, finding resilience through writing, and her experience in AmeriCorps. She is at work on a memoir about going from LA party girl to trail worker in rural Alaska. For more, visit Lorna’s website.
Photograph by That guy names Jere via a Creative Commons license.
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