I was stuck in second hand jeans,
a stutter, and hiding the scars
my mother left. She hated you,
but never met you; it was about
who you were related to.
You, smoothly built as a Corvette,
a Maserati. I was the sort to walk in
through the exit, stained, ruffled.
You thought I was too good for you.
I craved your touch, your voice,
couldn't believe you wanted me
when I was hollowed out, empty.
You understood me better
than you credited yourself.
I knew the secrecy would kill us.
The moon that night as fragile
as wind-bruised cherry blossom.
__________
Emma Lee’s publications include “The Significance of a Dress” (Arachne, 2020) and "Ghosts in the Desert" (IDP, 2015). She co-edited “Over Land, Over Sea,” (Five Leaves, 2015), is Poetry Reviews Editor for The Blue Nib, reviews for magazines and blogs at http://emmalee1.wordpress.com.