Cartography #28 – Afterschool Special
My fingers lingered on a carving knife
in the sink of Emily’s mom’s cheaply rustic
suburban kitchen, while she, lying back
on the rough living room carpet, called
for attention and affection while her mom
was out. She sprawled out like the jewel
cases of her makeout CDs, Boyz II Men
and TLC, and I struggled to remember
why I liked her at all. I walked out.
I didn’t call back. In ’99, Emily’s locker
was searched; the only thing found was
that knife, sharpied with my name.