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GOLD

BY KAILAN HUTCHISON

she dipped herself in gold
well, rather, she paid a large male hand appearing from the corner,
one she would definitely recommend to a friend,
to grasp her by the waist and dunk her into
the filled tupperware container
like a Tostitos chip

it didn't hit her how she thought it would
no lukewarm waves with bird couples rowing boats and whistling sailor songs
no hot tub steam rising up and fucking with her flash photography
no cold summer saltwater drying up cuts and making her smell like the sun
it was melted gold
melted gold like gooey Kraft mac and cheese she's microwaved for years
but without the nostalgic taste

gold chains, gold hoops, gold she found from the attic and the moon and her first
young love
but not just melted gold
"just" implies not enough
less than
and this was gold and this was good
and this would make her everything

more than her worth as it is measured by the compliments he does not give
measured by how she can bend before she finally says "no"
before she can open her legs or close them
on her own
and check to make sure her rubber stash behind the headboard is the same as last
night

more than her worth to others

so as she waned in this golden tub
she felt herself becoming pure and metallic
her organs, her tongue
all shimmering and powerful
her brain, her pupils
all bright and valuable
everything valuable
and smelling of pennies and dimes and her father's hands when he held her
and feeling like the women in music videos and long gone paintings
and wet dreams of treasure coves the cartoon pirates lust over