Blue
By Sara Henning
My year of firsts will always burn bright blue.
I start with Manic Panic, my boyfriend’s head in the kitchen sink.
We cruise in cars, slurp Icees from the Texaco.
My mother worked doubles and binge-watched soaps.
.
In the kitchen sink, I dye my boyfriend’s hair.
His name is Elijah, Hebrew for my God.
My mother worked doubles and binge-watched soaps.
I steal her menthols, nearly fail the PSAT.
.
I date a boy named Elijah, Hebrew for my God.
We spend prom night in the back of his Chevy Astro.
He aced the SAT, helped me pass Physics.
From him, I learn that heat is a measure of disorder.
.
We spend prom night in the back of his Chevy Astro,
back when home was a place I couldn’t love.
If heat is a measure of disorder, does time exist?
When we get bored, we wander the aisles at Revco.
.
Home is a city I could never love.
When Elijah’s brother raped my best friend, a part of me dies.
When we get bored, we wander the aisles at Revco.
Back from Basic, he begs her digits. I ink them on his hand.
.
A part of me dies. A part of me is dead.
She’s married now. Her husband worships her.
Back from Basic, a ghost of a brother begs digits, inks his rage onto women.
She called me after, screaming into the phone.
.
I’m married now. My husband worships me.
Back then, we cruised in cars, slurped Icees from the Texaco.
When I call her number, I still hear her screaming.
My year of firsts will always burn bright blue.