Rebecca Titus

Belly eleven

Wringing sour lake water from your hair

you notice you’re the only one here

in a one-piece. Other girls sport

rippling ribs and neon string

but you’re navy and

double-lined,

fresh from the catalog.

In a locked bedroom

you style pigtails,

brag, issue dares.

It takes some convincing

but finally you, too,

knot up your sleep shirt

and when Jen says your stomach is cute,

you feel navel and spine

magnetize, thighs sting

where the lake leeches latched

and let go.

When Dad picks you up,

the Buick reeks of shin guards.

He bought pizza but forgot your olive allergy

so you warm some soup,

thumb the skin against your waistband.

Something stirs

but you don’t yet know

what to ask for

or whom. 

CP

Rebecca Titus is a writer, photographer, and ESL teacher living in Prague. She likes very spicy Thai food and talking about HBO shows.