Jamaica Pond

by Maslen Bode Ward

Honorable Mention, Elinor Benedict Poetry Prize,
selected by Diane Seuss

Last night a bit manic, a friend texts me thank you for bringing the fun
as though it was a favor, though it was, kind of, and now
I’m trying on all my clothes, home alone, New York smells
like Boston today, humid, shorts and sneakers and tank top, tits out, Boston
I tell people I love the heat what I mean is I loved
that summer in Boston, sometimes I hate it there, but I loved
being in my childhood home alone didn’t close any doors
masturbated so much, in the shower, in my bed, the bed I recited
a prayer in every night of high school, then stayed up
until 4 am watching TV, everyone else asleep, yet I was always upset
the next morning when my mom would say I could hear you
laughing, and masturbating can be so peaceful, like being alone
in a house that used to haunt you, no porn only sunlight
or some porn, video to video, just the best parts, the beginning
the undressing, the awkward bits, that’s peace, last night I was on fire
people are laughing, I’m just a kid, what if my heart is closed
what if my heart is the red container in the shape of an apple
that held an apple in my lunch box so it wouldn’t bruise,
maybe that’s my heart, it’s red and plastic and the shape
of an apple, I text my mom that I miss Jamaica Plain
and would love to walk around the pond today, I hope she reads it as I miss you
even though I meant I would love to walk around the pond today
which I always did alone, my mom respected that, my family knew I’d come back
from the walk nicer, so maybe she doesn’t read it as I miss you
maybe she knows I’m saying I wish I could come back nicer.

Maslen Bode Ward is a writer from Boston. She received her MFA in Poetry from NYU. Her work appears or is forthcoming in The Iowa Review, Indiana Review, Bennington Review, Interim, HAD, daadgalerie, and elsewhere.