The Only Girl I Ever Loved

You had the heart of a hummingbird, the tongue
of a hornet. Sweet sting. I tried to be a flower for you, or
a nectar. Sickening. I can’t help but be
attracted to disaster.

You had the hands of a sculptor;
I placed myself between them, wet clay.
I wanted you in me
……………maneuvering my ribs.

I tried to be both: the pot, & the lighter.
Something you would reach for.
I held your tiny fingers, let my own grow unfamiliar.
I drew them, & one-line sketches of your face.
You traced them, in a daze.
Pencil never leaving page–because how could it ever
…………………………………………………..want that escape?

I wanted to be fired, coated in glass.
I thought you could have made me into anything,
and I wanted more than anything
to be something else.

I didn’t know what I was
when I met you & my hands began to sweat,
the only words for girls who want to kiss
girls I knew curses, disintegrations on my
dry and panicked tongue even
as I unfurled it into your mouth & pretended it a safe place.
Every admission I gave you: a drunken intimation &
I’m sorry.
I didn’t know     what I was     when you bought me
that gas-station-rose but I went home
with it staining my face & used
our empty bottle of Sofia wine for a vase.

Did you know how much I ached for you?                              Did I?
Much too late.

You told me no one’s place is
in someone else’s chest & I swear I heard
you even over the sound of my hammering
one into yours.


Camille Ferguson

CAMILLE FERGUSON lives in and loves Cleveland, Ohio, with its thriving literary scene and hub of creatives. Camille studies creative writing at Cleveland State University where she recently received the Neal Chandler Creative Writing Enhancement Award. Her work is featured in Ligeia Magazine and forthcoming in Jelly Bucket.

Contributions by Camille Ferguson