The Day After

I wear my hair up the day after

And a low, sweeping shirt collar

I make no attempts to conceal your marks on my neck

If you're embarrassed to see them there than you should have been more careful 

I've decided that your shame is no longer my problem 


I go to see my mother

For coffee and idle, awkward conversation 

She stares but does not ask

I wonder what shape you take in her mind

How sharp she must think your teeth 


I go to class, I go to work 

I hold my little nephew 

He presses a curious palm into one of the bigger bruises 

His hands are of a far more innocent intent than I thought that skin was capable of receiving 

I laugh and laugh until all at once I begin to cry 

This poem is about: 


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