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Swimming Lessons and other poems by Stephanie Kaylor

when you rammed your cock
in my throat and I remembered
choking on the chlorinated water
of a public pool, taking a piss
to feel a moment of warmth
freedom abound while the others
watched my father’s hands hold
my slippery limbs steady
asked was he my real father
told us dark brown people shouldn’t
touch light beige people they
knew the world before they knew
its words and I only wanted
to learn to stay afloat


you had only three shirts
and a dream a    guitar
strumming song in
my hair              in
finiti in tangles
I never thought
to brush out until
I saw the fourth
shirt the pin
stripes          stark
black on white hot
blades               a thousand
edges sterile reflecting
you      I still saw
wrote    impaled my self on
sharpened you bleeding
dreams of shapeless
you        staining the sheets
I begged you not to wash
the new photographs
a drunken mob          will
not raise eyes pass Go
only want to make it
home         is like no place
and I know
to lock the door

About the author:

Stephanie Kaylor is a student at European Graduate School whose research interests include feminist theories of relationally and narrative structure. Her poetry has appeared in journals including Queen Mob’s Teahouse, BlazeVOX, and The Willow Review. She is currently based in the Northeastern region of the US where she is likely hibernating at this moment.

5 Comments on Swimming Lessons and other poems by Stephanie Kaylor

  1. Yesssssssss


  2. tight


  3. It is wrong that these poems turn me on?


  4. Clarissa // January 31, 2017 at 16:25 //



  5. holy shit these are good


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