Close Menu
  • Home
    • About
    • Masthead
    • Links
  • MER Journal
    • Latest Issue
    • Back Issues
    • Subscribe to MER!
  • MER ONLINE
    • MER Quarterly
    • MER Literary Folios
    • Poetry
    • Fiction
    • Creative Prose
    • Essay
    • Craft
    • Interviews
    • Book Reviews
      • Bookshelf
    • Authors’ Notes
    • Art Gallery
      • Special – Hybrids
  • News & Events
    • News
    • Poem of the Month
    • Events
      • MER 18 Virtual Reading – Voices From HOME
    • Currents
      • Announcements
      • Highlights
  • Shop
    • All Issues
    • One Year Subscription
    • Two Year Subscription
  • Submit
Facebook X (Twitter) Instagram
MER – Mom Egg Review
Facebook X (Twitter) Instagram YouTube Tumblr Threads
  • Home
    • About
    • Masthead
    • Links
  • MER Journal
    • Latest Issue
    • Back Issues
    • Subscribe to MER!
  • MER ONLINE
    • MER Quarterly
    • MER Literary Folios
    • Poetry
    • Fiction
    • Creative Prose
    • Essay
    • Craft
    • Interviews
    • Book Reviews
      • Bookshelf
    • Authors’ Notes
    • Art Gallery
      • Special – Hybrids
  • News & Events
    • News
    • Poem of the Month
    • Events
      • MER 18 Virtual Reading – Voices From HOME
    • Currents
      • Announcements
      • Highlights
  • Shop
    • All Issues
    • One Year Subscription
    • Two Year Subscription
  • Submit
NEWSLETTER
MER – Mom Egg Review
You are at:Home » Rebecca Hart Olander – Fawn

Rebecca Hart Olander – Fawn

0
By Mom Egg Review on December 14, 2017 Poetry

REBECCA HART OLANDER

 

FAWN

 

From the age of fourteen, some weekends, I took the train from Gloucester, MA, where I lived with my mom, to North Station in Boston, on my way to my father’s house in Dorchester. The conductor called out Man-ches-tah, Man-ches-tah! Swam-scitt! and Beh-vah-lee Fahms! as we sped away from the rocky coastline toward the city. From there, I rode the Red Line in the direction of Ashmont, to Shawmut, my destination. One time, sitting on a molded blue plastic subway seat, overstuffed talisman of backpack held fast on my lap, I glanced at a man across from me, his legs spread wide. On one side of his too-short cut-offs sat the stiff arrow of his penis. At first I thought he forgot his underwear, the way I once did in Kindergarten, rushing so I wouldn’t miss the bus. All that day, I had pressed my knees together like hands in prayer. No. He knew. I can’t remember if I met his eyes. I pretended not to notice, afraid if I moved it would prove that I had. I was caught there, a frightened deer held in an oncoming glare. As my eyes traveled the horizontal map of subway stations above the grimy windows, half of me kept seeing inside his shorts, the way his legs were set in a gaping “V,” bright embarrassment rising on my face. I held my backpack tighter. I conjured each coming stop in my head until we reached it. I bit the inside of my cheek, hard. I thought I will not look 300 times. I looked directly into other people’s eyes, trying to share my confusion. It took so long before those silver doors opened and let me out, to dash across the asphalt and up the hill, not sure if I’d had a near miss or a collision, and I never, ever told anybody what happened because what if they thought I had wanted to see?

 


Rebecca Hart Olander’s poetry has appeared recently, or is forthcoming, in Yemassee Journal, Radar Poetry, and Ilanot Review, and her reviews have been published in Rain Taxi Review of Books, Solstice Literary Magazine, and Valparaiso Poetry Review. Rebecca teaches writing at Westfield State University and is the editor/director of Perugia Press.

Share. Facebook Twitter Pinterest LinkedIn Tumblr Email
Previous ArticleLesléa Newman – #MeToo
Next Article Zeina Hashem Beck – Triptych: Voice

Comments are closed.

May 8, 2025

Psychic Party Under the Bottle Tree by Jennifer Martelli

May 8, 2025

Venus Anadyomene by Alyssa Sinclair

May 4, 2025

Seeking Spirit: A Vietnamese (non) Buddhist Memoir by Linda Trinh

May 4, 2025

Apartness by Judy Kronenfeld

May 4, 2025

Inconsolable Objects by Nancy Miller Gomez

May 4, 2025

All This Can Be True by Jen Michalski

May 4, 2025

Leafskin by Miranda Schmidt

May 1, 2025

MER Poem of the Month – May 2025

April 27, 2025

MER Submissions Are Open!

April 20, 2025

MER Reading a Mass Poetry in Salem MA

Facebook X (Twitter) Instagram YouTube Tumblr Threads
  • About
  • Advertise
  • Submit
  • Contact
MER - Mom Egg Review
PO Box 9037, Bardonia, NY 10954
Contact [email protected]

Copyright © 2025 MER and Mom Egg Review

Type above and press Enter to search. Press Esc to cancel.