Dad appears over my right shoulder as I attempt to rub the bloodstain from my undies. “No big deal,” he says. He mechanically drains the sink, fills it with cold water, and adds a splash of bleach from the jug in the closet. My white panties billow to the surface like a parachute, then collapse and slowly sink again. With a hand on my shoulder, Dad tells me to return in half an hour. I wonder: If someone told him thirteen years ago that he would one day be raising two teen girls by himself, would he have stuck around?
Finalist, Fall Contest 2023. Contest Readers’ praise included “every word is in the right place” and “the impact, and the way we’re in the moment, really work.”
Laura Plummer is an award-winning poet and writer from Massachusetts, USA. Her work has appeared in numerous print and online publications. Lauraplummer.me