23 – The First Time She Ever Said Fuck

you could see it
gathering steam
from her core

from her memory

from her sadness

from her pain
from her fear
from her anger

but when it came out

Fffffffuck!

it was not nearly
as loud
as explosive
or as endless
as she deserved

I think now
I should have
saved it
dug a deep hole
and planted it
grew it lush and large
fed it back to her
sautéed in
wine and butter

Maybe then
she would remember
the day she almost
set herself free.

Image: Woman on the Verandah , Edvard Munch. Poem ©2018, Jen Payne, for my mother. National Poetry Month #23. For more poems like this, read Jen’s book Evidence of Flossing: What We Leave Behind! BUY THE BOOK