Poetry Finalist Kathlyn Meyer

Aug 12, 2016 by

Poetry Finalist Kathlyn Meyer

 

Ragdoll

 
She was physically
rich. When she walked
all hunker, swagger
she could hear “mm-mm”
a block before
and after. Each
step was “damn
girl” and “hey
mama,” but all she
wanted was, “excuse me,
Miss.”

Cascading down brick-
walls came cat-
calls and, “come
on up here!” A glance
toward the sky
only met hard eyes
but she would climb
for a dollar
and a “sigh.”
Every thrust
of her foot
forward begged
for “excuse me,
Miss.”

It never came.

Strange
thresholds greeted her; meaning-
less faces, picture-frames,
furniture
she’d never seen; foreign objects
familiar — the inside
always so
comfortless.

While she was wooed
through strange halls
she’d imagine what
it was like
to be the face
in the frame
of someone’s,
“excuse me,
Miss.”

Heavy moan behind
her — she’d be face down,
breathing through open
mouth
so she doesn’t have to smell
cum,
trying not to swallow
sweat,
from bed sheets, choking on
70% rayon,
30% polyester
forming her silent prayer
of rescue
spoken as,
“Miss.”

Each jerk of her
torso waited for the end.

Afterward, the night
greeted her
homeless. Just a cold
corner to dream
of her
“hello, Miss.”

 

Kathlyn Meyer

Kathlyn Meyer is an MSU Denver graduate whose writings have been published in newspapers, journals, and at international conferences.

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