She imagined everyone
could see them, the fingerprints
they left behind. No special brushes
or powder needed to reveal
the damage that was done.
She imagined they glared at you like
a neon sign, “VA ANT,”
flashing above a cheap motel.
A hole in the center
that no one ever took the time to repair.
Men and women in blue
streamed in and out, asking
the same questions over and over.
The stark white room intensified
the sensation of being dirty.
The men’s faces began to blur in her mind.
Each of them grimacing as they climbed on.
She had no business running in the park
at that time of evening. She should’ve known
better. She should have known.
She imagined the look on her lover’s face
when he found out. He would pity her.
His hand would reach for her and she would
flinch. His eyes would plead with her and
mirror the pleading in hers.
She imagined they must look
smudged, a mosaic of ugly covering the
beauty that lay beneath.
No clear distinction between them.
All of them unidentifiable partial prints.