She had written this in her journal,
while she was still able to . . .

We were both 14.
I had to show him how to do it.

He had never been with
a girl before.

He barely had an hair yet, and
he was afraid to look at me.

He kissed with his lips
closed tight.

He came in an instant and
sprayed his ****** *** on my
deflowered cotton dress.

I later burned that dress
in the backyard barbecue and
saved the ashes
in a small cedar box.

Twelve years later
she would sprinkle those ashes
over her mother's grave,

a parting gift
for having played the game
so poorly.