yellow summer dress

I can remember the taste of sugar

The smell of motor oil strong on my skin.

He smiled and told me I was fine

everything would be fine

and I rember thinking

you don't tell people how they feel

you ask them.

He gave me a sweater.

Too big, too heavy.

He stroked my hair

told me I was beautiful.

I looked at my shoes

scuffed toes and dust

and thought about birds

flying south for the winter.

He said he would drive me home.

I said I could walk

and I collected my things

and showed myself to the door

while he washed me from his skin

so nobody would ever know

I was here.

I walked until it was dark.

Wind pulling at my dress

fingers knotted in my hair.

He told me I was beautiful.

Its hard to wash that smell from your skin.