Knowledge and Memory
Ashley Wilson
Memories I can play
like a VHS inside
my head.
I can recall his voice, a
slow, drowsy drawl with
a condescending edge.
I can recall his taste, a
bittersweet memory.
I can recall how
it felt to be held
in his arms.
The memory refuses to play.
The VHS is broken,
like I am, and
there is black tape littering the carpet.
I can only remember
the blood staining our mattress and
my body’s natural response to
desperately lubricate itself
before more damage was done.
He thought it meant
I liked it,
so he kept going.
Muddy Bank 