A Retracing of Hands

1
Sometimes when I go back to the city, I remember
the second time he hit me. He’d grown up
in Chicago, but we were lost in the South Loop, tracks crossing
above our heads like iron sutures, the whole dizzying swarm
of wool and down that covered rushing bodies. Grey slush
melting beneath the heat of my knees as I fell
to the ground. We missed our train home. He didn’t speak
for hours. All year I measured days by the splitting
and restitching of scabs on his knuckles. That final winter was so cold,
and he, so angry. I never saw them heal. I didn’t know then
that I wanted anything more than him and his white undershirts
all stained copper with drinking. Two years after I left,
I found myself back in the city. I took that same train
we missed and pressed my palms to the seat to stop
them from shaking. So tired, ready to give him what he wanted,
I walked past the grocery store, the ice cream shop.
All the while, a fledgling dying inside of me, and with each step,
I spooned poison into its mouth. I felt nothing
when I finally arrived at his mother’s house. It was spring
and robins freckled the yard with their scarlet chests
like open wounds. Her purple irises were lovely that year.
I thought I heard his niece laughing through the open
window. I stood there for what felt like hours. Still so obedient,
I waited for him to come outside. I think I wanted him to kill me.
A Retracing of Hands by Jessica Lynn Suchon

Photo used under CC.

Share.

About Author

blank

Jessica Lynn Suchon is a poet, essayist, and women’s rights advocate. She recently received her MFA from Southern Illinois University where she was recognized by The Academy of American Poets. Jessica was named a 2016 Emerging Writer Fellow by Aspen Words, a partner of The Aspen Institute and was a finalist for the 2017 Indiana Review Prize. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Yemassee, Hermeneutic Chaos, Radar Poetry, Connotation Press, decomP magazinE, Glass: A Journal of Poetry, Rust + Moth, and A Shadow Map: An Anthology by Survivors of Sexual Assault, among others.

1 Comment

  1. Dear Jessica,
    This felt like a punch in the gut to me. It’s raw and poignant and split open. But I see your healing every day and I see you thriving and I’m so happy and so grateful you’re here, if only because I get to read your words. Keep going. Keep writing. Keep being.

%d bloggers like this: