Raspberries

• Cheyenne Chun, Grade 9
• Poetry
• 2003

When we met, he gave me raspberries. He said, "You'll learn to love them." He likes
their color when they bloom red on my lips. I figured he was right-it's an acquired taste.

I tried to stop it once. He hit me. He was right--I'm lucky he didn't do more. That time.

When I was 10, I wished for a nice big boyfriend who could protect me from the world
and who loved me enough to kill. Be careful what you wish for.

Where were you last night?
When did you get home?
Did he walk you in?
Don’t lie to me sara, don’t you fucking lie. Who was he?

He does mean it. But only because it’s his only choice. He can’t let me be bad. He says
it’s in my raspberry blood.

In the bathtub, running a finger over my bruises. Soft, sweet song. And I stand to fly
away.

Annie paints my nails with love, stroking the brush, caressing my nails. I unpin
my bun. We talk about Him. I roll into bed laughing/feeling dirty.

Sleeping, the door opens. Fearful silence shatters the city. I bloom