“I want to worship your body,”
he says now—
nearly seven years later—
and you’re whooshed back in time
to the night that you met.
When, with its creases and folds
and intricate design
like a fingerprint,
your vagina was first deemed
“exquisite.”
She—the most secret part of you—
left an indelible mark,
and you left one too:
on his car window
in the shape of a heart.
Because, even then,
he already held
(and still holds)
a piece of yours.
***
Melody Greenfield, who writes CNF and poetry, has an MFA in creative nonfiction writing from Antioch University Los Angeles. She has been published—both under this name and another—in Brevity; The Los Angeles Review; the Los Angeles Review of Books; The Manifest-Station; the Jewish Literary Journal; Moment Mag; Sledgehammer Lit; Kelp Journal; and elsewhere. Melody lives in LA with her Canadian husband (an elementary school teacher), and—when she’s not reading, writing, or singing—she teaches and practices Pilates. Melody can be found on the socials at:
https://www.facebook.com/melody.greenfield.520/ or @melody.greenfield_writer on IG.
* A different version of this poem by another title originally appeared in The Erozine (June ’21).
***
image: MM Kaufman
Rejection Letters 