Outside
by Kelli Simpson
We were 14 and fragile
that summer.
Lonely, unsupervised,
unlikeable girls.
We made worlds
of each other's empty spaces.
We invented places
where mothers came home.
We drank ourselves stupid
that summer
with shoplifted beer
from the Stop and Buy.
And we loved each other
through learning that loss
can bitter every taste on the tongue.
We were the shame of the town
that summer.
Odd, almost orphaned,
awkward girls;
our eyes,
hungry and haunted;
our houses
thick with ghosts.
that summer.
Lonely, unsupervised,
unlikeable girls.
We made worlds
of each other's empty spaces.
We invented places
where mothers came home.
We drank ourselves stupid
that summer
with shoplifted beer
from the Stop and Buy.
And we loved each other
through learning that loss
can bitter every taste on the tongue.
We were the shame of the town
that summer.
Odd, almost orphaned,
awkward girls;
our eyes,
hungry and haunted;
our houses
thick with ghosts.
Kelli Simpson is a mother and poet living in Norman, Oklahoma. When she is not writing, she enjoys reading and being outdoors. She has been published in Dreams Walking and Disquiet Arts.