The absence of an unnamed thing.

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I

We googled clitoris
and found a diagram,
every numbered, labelled fold,
then spent hours with a small mirror,
comparing.


II

That one night when Sara
got into a car with a boy,
we all knew it was a mistake.
No one said anything when she
walked back smiling, limping.
We sat there for five minutes, ruined,
watching her spit knuckle clean
her bleeding skirt.


III

At lunch, a boy in our class tells us
what it feels like. Imagine
he points to my mouth, pushing
an entire finger into the gap
between your front teeth.
The girl beside me shudders,
I look at my hands.
She begged me he says.
What did she say? we ask.
Make me normal, please
open me up.

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