Flamenco Fun
by Jessica Bell


Cheek squashed
to your breast;
ear wet. Sweaty.
You grip too tight,
rock back and forth,
twist my head
toward the sun
searing freckles
on my face;
marks of misbehavior.

I squirm
from your embrace
and run—
climb the fig tree
where I like to sing
for the grass,
and purple plums.

Legs wrapped
around thick branch
I pull myself
higher
trunk massaging
my vagina
I hold
my breath,
close my eyes
you scream
for me to come
down.

I won’t.

You slap me
for making you
play. It’s my fault
you ripped my dress.
It’s my fault.
I forced you.

We were blowing bubbles.
It was fun.
We skipped up and down
the driveway.
You spun
round and round—
arms in air
smiling
in my fancy-dress
Flamenco frock.

Then you rode
my bicycle—
too small for you,
caught my skirt
in the spokes.
Destroyed.
My favorite dress destroyed.

For a moment,
I loved you.
For one moment.






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