Senior English major Kim Reeser offers us the following poem, “Turned Tables,” a piece rich with various syllabic patterns and erotic imagery. Reeser humorously noted that she “listened to Trey Songz on loop to write this [piece],” which, given the style of someone like Songz, adds an interesting nuance to the depth of Reeser’s metaphors and subversive lines. Enjoy “Turned Tables” below.
I’m not all that I seem, it’s all outside the box here.
I walk with hair tucked behind my ears and cover myself
With over-sized sweaters that hide any imagination.
Underneath rests my coke-bottle shape, fitted in black lace
that aches for the tug of your fingertips and eager tongue on my rising skin.
Your coarse hands will remember and imagine my soft hills,
But your hands are just another pair for me.
See, my body has known bodies,
Has loved bodies,
But has never been a fool to fall in love with a body.
It has kissed the damp concaves of your neck, seasoned it black and blue.
You should have told me to stop.
These well-known thighs have mounted and laid claim on your land,
At least for the next hour or so.
Moving to the fluidity of a tide, you could hardly catch your breath.
When you buck, I hold tighter. Skin under my nails.
And you try hard to tame me. I don’t do branding.
It’s so easy to fall in love with me after I open your eyes,
But synchronization doesn’t make us one true love here.
Leave your emotions at the front step and shoes by the door.
No place for them with a girl like me.
I’m sure you think I’m a slut, a whore, or loose.
Is that what we’re calling free will now? Were you unaware
that tables could turn and I could be as good as you?
Game, Set, Match.
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