Let me eat again

of memory sitting on the cold

concrete of my parents’ porch, one summer

night, the sticky cotton of my sundress

clinging to my legs in the heavy heat, palpable

with all I did not know.

He knew

everything I did not, cocky

with all he could take; everything

still, the night air whispering

long after he was gone. I was stunned

at what I could do,

what I had done.