(A response evoked by an excerpt of Eunice De Souza’s poem of the same name)

At sixteen, the senior boy I

loved, touched me down there

and said, this is what boyfriends

do, this is what love feels like –

uncomfortable.

At eighteen, when I fell in love

again, the boy asked me if his

touch was comfortable. Ashamed,

at feeling what I should not,

I just nodded.

When his mouth tasted my

uncleanliness, I reminded him, but

this is where I pee from.

At eighteen, he was only

three years older,

smiling, and teaching me how

I have been peeing wrong

all my life.

Cover Image: Pixabay