by Vera Kewes Salter
At fifteen she had no language to describe
her own body when the man lured her
into his cabin and caused unknown
sensations to radiate through her.
She tried to write about this in her green leather
diary with the gold lock. Her boyfriend made her
shred it and pitch it into the waste bin at the underground
station because she was not able to say
if she had real sex. She sobbed every evening
as he harangued her on the phone.
She is glad her three-year old granddaughters know
to say they wash their vaginas each night in the tub.
* * * * *
Raised in England to parents who were refugees from Europe, Vera Kewes Salter moved to the United States in 1969 and married into an African American family. Together with a PhD in sociology these varied perspectives inform her work. She writes at the Hudson Valley Writers' Center. She has been published recently in Right Hand Pointing, Writers Circle 2, and Red Eft Review.