(Amen, amen, I say to you. Spot on.)
Not Doing Something Wrong Isn’t the Same as Doing Something Right
Cristin O’Keefe Aptowicz
In my defense, my forgotten breasts. In my defense, the hair
no one brushed from my face. In my defense, my hips.
Months earlier, I remember thinking that sex was a ship
on the horizon. I could do nothing but shove my feet in the sand.
I missed all the things loneliness taught me: eyes that follow you
crossing a room, hands that find their home on you. To be
In my defense, his hands. In my defense, his arms. In my defense,
how when we just sat listening to each other breathe, he said,
This is enough.
My body was a house I had closed for the winter. It shouldn’t have
that difficult, empty as it was. Still, I stared hard as I snapped off
My body was a specter that haunted me, appearing when I
in the bathroom, when I crawled into empty beds, when it rained.
My body was abandoned construction, restoration scaffolding
that became permanent. My body’s unfinished became its
So in my defense, when he touched me, the lights of my body
In my defense, the windows were thrown open. In my defense,