She Told Me

Photo by Vitolda Klein on Unsplash‍ ‍

She told me,

though I hadn’t asked.

Told me all about it …

the blood that comes

every month,

every month,

every month.

Blood that can catch you unaware,

seeping through your panties,

the back of your skirt,

so that all your

classmates

can see.

Even the boys!

(A girl in her class

had to go home

from school

in the middle

of the day,

humiliated!)

“How old are you?” she asked.

And what did I answer? 

Ten, maybe? 

Eleven? 

“Well, then,” she said,

“you’d better watch out,

because it’s going

to happen

soon.”

She never explained

why girls were designed

in such an unimaginable way.

Just that it would happen.

And to me!

I went home,

a bloody stone

lodged deep in my belly.

My childhood over, done.

I, never to be carefree,

ignorant,

innocent

again.

She was my friend,

and I knew what she’d told me

must be true.

Too strange to be lies.

Who, after all, could make it up?

Nonetheless, I hoped not to see her

ever

again.