Poetry by Nicole Dalcourt

Petras Gagilas CC




LOSING MY VIRGINITY IN MY BEST FRIEND’S BASEMENT
 
I start my leaving minutes after he’s done, even though he’s kind to me – 
this almost stranger. His warm fingers circle
my wrist to pull me back from the edge
of the bed.           Stay.
 
Everything in the room is soaked in purple. 
The wallpaper, bedspread. Lampshade. 
A crocheted blanket limps across 
the foot of the bed, before slipping to the floor.

Why are you crying? 
 
I answer him                        with my kissing mouth, 
say the song on the radio played at my brother’s funeral 
                and it made me think about his accident.
                                                                 That’s what I called it then, 
                                                                  an accident.
 
My other mouth,              the one that drinks stolen vodka 
from my parents’ liquor cabinet,                 doesn’t tell this lie.

That girl says it true –                     he was alone in his room 
with a gun to his head
                and their pupils swell with the shock of it.     
 
But I am not drunk today    
and there is nothing to soften what happened here.           I know now, 
a body can be hollowed 
or filled 
              depending on the action.
 
He runs his hand up and down  
my arm,                 so lightly I almost miss it. 

I’m sorry for your loss
    
                                                                 and I still don’t know which one he meant.

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Nicole Dalcourt is an award-winning poet living near Toronto, Ontario. Dalcourt’s work has appeared, or is forthcoming, in Writerly Magazine, King Mosaic and Sky Island Journal. When not writing, Nicole hosts and participates in open mics around the region. Her favorite colour is green.



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