Hidden

From the baselines in Big Sister’s
bedroom, from the longhairs
necking with her 
in the backseat of the Lincoln, 
or stuck together 
like dolphins in the deep end,
I knew something of sex, 
but I suffered 
a nervy pulse I couldn’t decipher. 
Wires crossed and fizzed. 
Their crux flickered 
a teensy bulb, center front 
of my hairless cleft. 
Crowning bitty head
in a wimply fold. 
Tight whorl that needed
soothing. Clenchy itch,  
which pressed me to straddle 
the edge of my third-grade chair.
glide side to side
on a hidden pin.
Mommy’s lip curled 
with what looked like desire.
She pronounced me Dirty. Swarming.
Big Sister and her boyfriends
snickered and scorned.
Still, as I sipped my tea in bone
china with bloody roses, 
as I looked at the naked 
ceiling pulse, I pushed 
my center fire.
Poked and poked to keep it quiet. 
When I lay down, it grew louder.

*This poem was a Finalist in the SWWIM For-the-Fun-of-It Contest.

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Dion O’Reilly's first book, Ghost Dogs, was published in February 2020 by Terrapin Books. Her work appears in Cincinnati Review, Poetry Daily, Verse Daily, Narrative, The New Ohio Review, The Massachusetts Review, New Letters, Sugar House Review, Rattle, The Sun, and other literary journals and anthologies. Her poetry has been nominated for several Pushcarts and been shortlisted for a variety of prizes. She is a member of The Hive Poetry Collective, which produces podcasts and events, and she teaches ongoing workshops on a farm in the Santa Cruz Mountains--now on Zoom.