Midnight Skin

by Alexander Sayette

I was fourteen &

there was no light

I had not managed

to burst in the attic.

So Sunday was black

& silent & early

in spring. & I was

fourteen when I found

my parent’s love story,

all bundled up in boxes,

tucked in 90’s sweaters.

Beautiful & laced

with broken glass. All

flashlight & smiling eyes,

I played archeologist,

teased a skeleton from

their folded skins.

So I was fourteen &

heartsick, leafing

through a romance

written in denim &

black wool. My mother’s

shorts. My father’s

red windbreaker. My

mother’s turtleneck.

I bet he loved that

turtleneck. I bet she

loved him, too, felt the

pavement in falling

for him. All peach

flushed & frightful.

& so at fourteen,

I took a gift from each,

two bodies falling

into each other.

When no one

is looking, I open

their skins & dance.