The Beginnings Of A Bruise

Happy Friday to all! Here's the poem for the day. I'll be back tomorrow with Saturday pictures and Sunday for writing.

First Date

On long car trips, my sister would suck
her finger and try to touch me with it. Stop it,
I’d say, inching as far as I could toward the opposite
door. She’d quit for a few minutes before brandishing
the finger again, ready for another round. I’d yell, She’s trying
it again. My mother would turn to the backseat and say, Cut
it out. My sister would pop her finger back into her mouth, waiting
for another chance. Don’t, I’d say, it’s disgusting.

Stuck in the backseat of my date’s car after he told me
we weren’t going to the movies, I wanted to say
the same thing as he stuck his tongue in my ear and kissed
my neck so hard I found myself struggling to get away, but
there wasn’t anywhere to go so I smiled and counted
the minutes until he promised my parents he’d have me
home. When I got back, my mother asked if I had
a good time. I nodded and made for my room as she
pointed out that I had something on my neck. It looks
like blush, she said. I went to the bathroom and soaped
up my face, removing all traces of make-up, but the spot
remained, the beginnings of a bruise that could not be washed off.

Michelle's Spell of the Day
Isn't life a series of images that change as they repeat themselves? Andy Warhol

Cocktail Hour
Drinking literary journal suggestion: http://www.biguglyreview.com/

Benedictions and Maledictions
Happy Friday!