Solitary Vice

Solitary Vice

 

I loved a girl

when I was a girl,

 

before I knew desire

could be used against me.

 

I so wanted to be relevant.

Simple exchange—

 

bouquets of wheat.

My dirt-stained hands,

 

tangled hair. I never

could be prim,

 

in apple-pie order.

I dropped all the eggs,

 

licking their smear

off my hands;

 

wrinkled her ribbons

into my pocket,

 

tore pages from her books,

all for the sake

 

of the lonely hour.


By Valerie Wtlaufer

Photography by Josh Soskin