ONE POEM BY JESSICA BLANDFORD

Another Humanitarian Disaster

with lines by Nicholas Goodly

I was a child once, but such

small things cannot be measured in harsh 

white sunlight. I breastfed 

one hunger after the other until I was full

of dangerous ideals like freedom and feminism

then, in third grade, someone’s mother said to me, 

“The boy’s restroom is down the hall.”

Every day after school, I would vacuum the classrooms, 

clean the restrooms—where I learned 

of sexuality one pink urinal cake at a time 

cleaning coagulated globules from the floor 

where the boys’ missed—used condoms 

where they didn’t—as forgotten

as the name of the girl the day after.

Walking the paths behind school 

I met a boy. A boy with an affinity

for sharp things and Fresca. 

I watched him from a distance—crouched 

in the bushes curdling dangerous thoughts 

like cups of sour milk.

As lonely as a rotten peach,

his knife 

became my own.

By Jessica Blandford