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​East Fork:

A Journal of the Arts​​


What Was It?
By: Michelle Snider


A flash in the adjacent bunk bed lights up the pupils
of your eyes; You breathe it in
all of it
The stale nicotine smoke wafting into the air, the old
man in the corner rocking back and forth whose forgotten
what it’s like to feel, the arm-crossed guerrilla
door frame laughing at the choice you didn’t know
you were making – freedom or hell, the tiny insignificant hand
 
that counts your life away, the picture you hide
under your pillow
from the wandering eyes of other horny men
 
Lying on the paper-stuffed mattress
soaked with the stench of a thousand lifeless men before; you can imagine
her eyes an inch from your nose, chest rattling
as her body rubs your face, to hold her in
gentle restraint beneath the covers
the warmth of your body heat
mingling with hers, to hear her whisper in your ear
those three powerful words that make it
all okay
 
Your eyes open
 
What was it that was so important to accept this as a way of life?
 
 
You don’t remember now.