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.