The Theory of the Hymen

It was in June when she erupted from her cocoon
Spreading those moth like wings over his nibble legs
This was the first time
or so it was thought
Out of the hundreds of DNA between that green slit
There his slimy one sat
Rotting my finger off
Stealing my grandmother’s ring
Thrown at me during his violent proposal
I should have known when he put his hands around my throat
As I objected,
“This crosses the line”
I begged, but he just squeezed
“We’re just friends you jealous slug”
“Stay hidden behind our painted door”
But he always came back
With a smell I’ll never forget
Of turpentine and mud

-Susie