Kiss Kill
While sitting on the school’s fire escape flipping sliced onions
off my sandwich, I thought about how I would answer
Kiss/Kill. Peg started it. We waited there every Tuesday
and Thursday for basketball practice to begin. Some
days the coach let us drive her car. We were in middle
school and the thought of being in control of anything
especially a vehicle… I’d be in the backseat laughing
so hard I couldn’t breathe as Peg tried to navigate the
church parking lot while coach screamed directives
at her. None of us thought about gender, sexual
orientation, so when Peg told me to choose
someone I had to kiss and someone I had to kill,
I looked into the distance before taking another bite
of my sandwich. The Gingko trees had lost their
leaves and thankfully the stink-bombs they let loose
each spring were gone. Jim Depoe used the pods
as weapons to get the attention of the girl he loved.
I noticed the skin on my legs blooming with purple marks
as goosebumps gathered. Answer the question. Peg’s lips were
full and slick. I imagined how soft they’d feel when
the rest of the team started to arrive, parents dropping them off.
I lived twenty yards from the church so I was on my own most days.
Kathy was a few steps away, waving her arms when I felt Peg
staring me down. It’s late, I said. On her way down the fire
escape, Peg punched me hard in the back. To kiss
is a touch. To kill is the death of that touch.
off my sandwich, I thought about how I would answer
Kiss/Kill. Peg started it. We waited there every Tuesday
and Thursday for basketball practice to begin. Some
days the coach let us drive her car. We were in middle
school and the thought of being in control of anything
especially a vehicle… I’d be in the backseat laughing
so hard I couldn’t breathe as Peg tried to navigate the
church parking lot while coach screamed directives
at her. None of us thought about gender, sexual
orientation, so when Peg told me to choose
someone I had to kiss and someone I had to kill,
I looked into the distance before taking another bite
of my sandwich. The Gingko trees had lost their
leaves and thankfully the stink-bombs they let loose
each spring were gone. Jim Depoe used the pods
as weapons to get the attention of the girl he loved.
I noticed the skin on my legs blooming with purple marks
as goosebumps gathered. Answer the question. Peg’s lips were
full and slick. I imagined how soft they’d feel when
the rest of the team started to arrive, parents dropping them off.
I lived twenty yards from the church so I was on my own most days.
Kathy was a few steps away, waving her arms when I felt Peg
staring me down. It’s late, I said. On her way down the fire
escape, Peg punched me hard in the back. To kiss
is a touch. To kill is the death of that touch.
September / October, 2022
Mary Lou Buschi holds an MFA in poetry from the MFA Program for Writers at Warren Wilson College and a Master of Science in Urban Education from Mercy College. Her poems have appeared in many literary journals such as FIELD, Willow Springs, Indiana Review, Radar, Thrush, Tar River, Cream City, Pank, Rhino, The Laurel Review, among others. Her second full length collection, Paddock, was published by Lily Poetry Review Books in 2021.
Art: Madge Evers. Undersea World of Poppies. Cyanotype.
