"Removing and Repositioning" by Carrie George

Carrie George is an MFA candidate for poetry at the Northeast Ohio MFA program. She is the graduate fellow at the Wick Poetry Center where she teaches poetry workshops throughout the community. She is a Pushcart Prize nominee, and her work has appeared in Peach Mag, Cosmonauts Avenue, The Indianapolis Review, and elsewhere. ​

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​Removing and Repositioning
 
 
Narrative, like memory, can take any form. Consider perspective: the person telling the story, their agency, their hungry, hungry hands. I might tell it like a lost girl hoping to put her trust in any human thing—even a boy with hands. I might tell it like he didn’t mean what he said to come across the way it did. I might tell it like benefit of the doubt. Like every boy has hands. Like every boy’s hands go where hands are destined to go, even if that going is counter to my silly wants. I might tell it like we were friends. I might tell it like I knew what he asked of me every time. I might tell it like it was a hallway I mean a room I mean a dark corner I mean behind a tree I mean a nightmare I mean a closed door I mean a broken light bulb I mean a torn clothesline I mean a bathroom stall I mean a packed audience I mean an alleyway I mean a river I mean the produce aisle I mean backstage at theatre camp I mean a windowsill I mean in the back seat I mean the closet where the brass instruments sat in leather and collected dust I mean
 
He might tell it like claiming the meal he deserved