She Tells Me

She tells me of her sexual assault at twelve.
I tell her of mine.
We share a story.

Rooted to the spot,
erect penises beneath coarse trouser cloth,
the neighbors hands in our baggy girls knickers
boiled clean too many times in steaming wash day coppers.
Worn elastic around our taut young bodies
no protection as he fondled our shame.

We swore ourselves to secrecy for more than twenty years.

“He haunts my marriage bed,” she said.
I said,“ His granddaughters live with him.”

Years later I spoke to him.
“She would not remember me,”
he said to himself on the phone.
To me he said, “You do not remember me
you were too young,
too young,
you do not remember
you do not remember

Rooted to the spot
my erect penis beneath coarse trouser cloth
my hand in your baggy girl knickers
boiled clean too many times in steaming wash day coppers.
Worn elastic around your taut young body no protection"

I could not say
I do!
I Do!
I DO!
as he fondled my shame.