Girls and Goats

By Grace Finin

To persuade him that I was no willing subsite for girls and goats is to
wish that you could live and to do so without causes or cares. For
someone, I will always be savage enough to let them impress me for
not more than too many hours which would rather be spent in
isolation. As much as I don’t try, I don’t think I can reach the
gloriousness that they all swear upon me. Recently, mockery has felt
misused with no guidance in thought. And if I were to climb like they
say, I don’t think love would continue to be the same as it stands now.
Filled with shame, ashamed, I am not a present you enjoy
unwrapping. I am the loose bottlecap you kept from your father’s
drink the first night you realized that really any liquid is stronger than
blood.

When I dreamed as a girl, I wanted to no longer be seen. And then I
found out that if I was not seen, then there could be no help given if it
should be needed. I know all the exits; my casket is empty, but the
altar boys follow down only by the trace of my purges.