There I Was Jerking It to an Oil Spill
I first encountered hips
in a Stephen King story.
I was thirteen, and it was definitely
not meant to be erotic.
It was called “The Raft”—
an oil spill swallowed everyone
including teens on the raft,
pulled them into dark water.
I remember hips
pressed against the dock,
one last gasp of pleasure
before being swallowed, so
there I was jerking it to an oil spill,
eyes closed, drowning,
dreaming of hurricanes
washing over my adolescence,
gas spills leaking
into my bed,
it would be a few years before
I thought: is this my last fuck before the world ends?
Every day, adults told me what to do.
My rebellion: fuck the unfuckable,
the stories that make you want
to dip two fingers into the dark hole
and tease the future,
coming quick and hard.
in a Stephen King story.
I was thirteen, and it was definitely
not meant to be erotic.
It was called “The Raft”—
an oil spill swallowed everyone
including teens on the raft,
pulled them into dark water.
I remember hips
pressed against the dock,
one last gasp of pleasure
before being swallowed, so
there I was jerking it to an oil spill,
eyes closed, drowning,
dreaming of hurricanes
washing over my adolescence,
gas spills leaking
into my bed,
it would be a few years before
I thought: is this my last fuck before the world ends?
Every day, adults told me what to do.
My rebellion: fuck the unfuckable,
the stories that make you want
to dip two fingers into the dark hole
and tease the future,
coming quick and hard.
Shir Lovett-Graff is a writer, organizer, and masters candidate at Harvard Divinity School, where they study religion, ethics, and politics. Their work can be read in a variety of publications, most recently in SWWIM, Silver Rose Magazine, The Bangalore Review, EcoTheo Review, Poetry Online, and Scapegoat Review.
Art: Yuno Shiota,『凪ー粟島ー』 Awashima Calm, 286 cm × 205 cm, acrylic and oil pastel on paper, 7.2020