Rape Poem Epilogue: for the Next One Caitlin Lee-Hendricks Having sex with me is like losing your car keys. Like how you throw yourself into the drivers’ seat. How you hold your breath when you swear you see something move in your rearview mirror. Like yanking down the emergency brake on a hill. As if a stoplight after midnight: a perpetual blinking yellow. Like swerving to the side when you see a near-dead deer in the road. As if you are struggling through fog and going 70 in a rainstorm. Sex with me is smudged red. How an ambulance darts past, a cop car pulls over the person behind you. Like how your stomach sinks into the gas pedal. As if sliding on black ice: hydroplaning and knowing no matter how many times you pump your breaks you’re still going to hurt the person in front
52
