Monday, 28 May 2018

A poem by Becky Bicks

exfoliant


The other day I almost panicked when I realized that
every piece of skin you’d ever touched on me
would someday leave my body.

Someday there would be a me
that had never been touched
by a you.

I tried to take stock of the things I still hold onto:
your birthday, favorite font (Garamond),
the nickname from the boyfriend you had before me (Freckles);
the way your mother taught you to never sleep in underwear (your body needs to breathe),
your favorite Christmas movie (Miracle on 34th Street, the 1994 remake),
the way you told me in the end that
even though it took awhile you were glad
you'd had the chance to teach me
to be a good kisser
(I’ll appreciate it later).

I realized, also, there are things I’m now forgetting:
what number Chanel you wore (5? 19?),
the way you liked to eat your wings (with blue cheese or ranch, or did you even like wings);
how you knew, when it was two girls
which one should hold the umbrella
(should you just hold your own)
and whether it even counted as sex
if you only ever used your hands.

I think I’m maybe also starting to forget
that thing that you said at the end
(I almost believed it)
about romantic and platonic love – they’re fluid;
how what we had here wasn’t an ending
just a shifting of form,
a reconceptualization (your word),
something easy.
You said, also, then
that sex was just another thing
you can do with people
you like to do things with.
So isn’t it simply nice
to have had the opportunity
to get to know another side of someone so well?
(Imagine how bonded we’ll be
in this next phase
of friendship).

Recently, I’ve contemplated sleeping again
in a t-shirt and underwear,
since I don’t actually mind feeling protected,
and I’ve also been wondering
if it could really possibly be true
that a remake is anywhere near
as good as an original.

This morning I read an article in a newsletter
(from Women’s Health Daily).
It was called,
“Why it’s Important to Remove Dead Skin.”












Becky is a writer, photographer, and designer currently living in Beacon, NY. Her work has appeared previously in The Wilderness House Literary Review, Eunoia Review, and decomP Magazine. She was born and raised in Memphis, TN.

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