September 3, 2014

Rebecca Titus

Belly eleven

Wringing sour lake water from your hair
you notice you’re the only one here
in a one-piece. Other girls sport
rippling ribs and neon string
but you’re navy and
fresh from the catalog.

In a locked bedroom
you style pigtails,
brag, issue dares.
It takes some convincing
but finally you, too,
knot up your sleep shirt
and when Jen says your stomach is cute,
you feel navel and spine
magnetize, thighs sting
where the lake leeches latched
and let go.

When Dad picks you up,
the Buick reeks of shin guards.
He bought pizza but forgot your olive allergy
so you warm some soup,
thumb the skin against your waistband.
Something stirs
but you don’t yet know
what to ask for
or whom. 


Rebecca Titus is a writer, photographer, and ESL teacher living in Prague. She likes very spicy Thai food and talking about HBO shows.


Anonymous said...

This is a wonderful piece.

Anonymous said...