Saturday Night

Last week I crafted
a clay container of a man’s body.
It was my first time using the earth to create
something, a person.
In that moment I was mighty
and I appropriately named the statue
Adam.

Last night I threw a soirée
not a party because all the girls wore skirts
to their calves and the men spoke of politics.
Adam was in the kitchen and with
Captain Morgan steering your ligaments you
conveniently fitted yourself into his smooth rib-cage,
albeit squishing his prostate to mush.

Everyone left and I know
you were in his body
because you were
screaming to get out.
I pretended I didn’t notice and stripped down
to my silk underwear; I knew
you’d be watching because the only
source of oxygen was through
Adam’s almond eyes.
I felt bad but your dimensions were
perfect and at that point it was
really just a matter of pragmatism–
I allowed the thickness of my
transparent desperation to muffle
your cries.

I have never seen
your eyes in the moonlight or heard
your voice by the water or felt
your fingers circling my navel–
But I know you have eyes and vocal chords and
fingers and I know that there is
moonlight and water and I have an innie.

It is morning now and you are waiting
in Adam’s body–
I caught one.

Rachel Kaly, Age 17, Grade 12, Hunter College High School, Silver Key

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