Free entry, Week 5

They couldn’t prepare her for the chase, she had to
do that on her own. To be careful where she stepped
each foot in danger of sliding in mud. And then the fall,
never wanting the fall. In the woods she found an old mattress,
greened with moss, specked with ticks. Fuck,
graffitied in blue, covers the entire mattress, as if whoever
sprayed it didn’t want someone to doubt its purpose.
Her father breathes heavy and quick behind her,
belt in hand. She had hid Pete McQueen in her closet.
Pete now has a black eye, her father doesn’t want a slut
for a daughter. She stops and runs her hands over her thighs,
Her dress is torn just at the hip. She remembers the mossy
smell in her room mixing with her own
shampoo. She remembers her legs tangled in the sheets
and her 4-H trophy that fell from the shelf. Now, her cheeks
are pink like bubblegum from running, no longer flush with sex.
She lied when she told Pete it was her first time,
She lied when he asked if her Pa was home.