Jane Doe

toe-tag-42544_960_720She was my first

Her hand dipped beneath the surface

of my drowning pool, my teenage doldrums

Flat-line flickers fitfully

She was my first

A tour guide always seeming to be running late,

No…here, let me—how’s that?

Incredible inner intoxication

She was my first

I felt I had value, I was worthwhile, I was chosen

It was all new to me, but seemed old hat to her

Reinvented reinvigorated rejoiced

She was my first

At a party, a kitchen while babysitting, in the playground

at the back of the school during a dance

Sex searing secretions

She was my first

Her brother picked her up from the dance

Knowing…his face was sad and furious simultaneously

Telltale trace tip-off

She was my first

Rumors of changing schools to escape reputation

She had left many in her wake…she had made herself a vessel

Onerous omissions obliterate

She was my first

I didn’t know what to make of it and denied it all

She had chosen me and I made myself an offering

Neglectful nonchalant naiveté

She was my first

I forgave the burn to bathe in her warmth

She jettisoned me in the cold ocean for a senior with a Jetta

Eviscerated expelled erased

[In the end, aside from being hurt, I felt bad for her. I imagined myself in her place, her brother’s place…her family’s. I wondered if someone had wounded her, leaving her to see herself as something passed along like currency, or was she the empowered one…having used me before moving on to someone with more to offer? She was my first. She is also the only person whose name I have purposely forgotten. My first is Jane Doe.]

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