You peered into me while chewing
Juicy Fruit—pulling out & undressing
another strip from foil & placing it
into my mouth. You were sixteen.
I was the twelve-year-old boy
who wore a ragged red-sox cap
& hand-me-down overalls,
in constant awe of your knee-high
socks & combat boots.
When I asked about
the nick on your chin,
you told me stories
of loving a boy who tried
to kill you with a boxcutter.
You rubbed the small
of my back after slamming
my bunkmate’s head
into the metal bedframe
because he tried to cave
my skull in
with a baseball bat.
When the left half
of my face became
paralyzed from taking Sulfa,
you sat with me on my bed
until I could move again.
I grumbled an I love you,
thinking you couldn’t
understand me.
Whenever you embraced me,
I was scared to reciprocate:
I once peered into your room
to find you pointing a knife
into your chest, but instead dropped
to your knees & wept.
Every time I pull out
a piece of gum I pretend
the sweet fingers grazing
the tip of my tongue
are yours.
***
Matthew Feinstein is a neurodivergent poet from Tracy, California. He is pursuing an MFA at Randolph College, starting in Winter 2020. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in Heavy Feather Review, Drunk Monkeys, Rejection Letters, and elsewhere. He is the founding editor of Plum Recruit and has just bought a rug for the first time in his adult life. You can follow him on Twitter @MatthewFeinste5
***
image: Kyla Houbolt
Rejection Letters 