Sage Calder Hahn
The Pine Tree Cinema Club
Natalie Grey told Logan Spring told
the entire seventh grade that when she
got her period
(her mother had promised her
sister had promised)
they would go into a cold part of the
woods into a clean pile of snow and
have sex, for their very first time, there.
Or, that’s what I remember now,
staring into my empty coffee cup. I was
so scared and different then. There was
nobody waiting to be between my legs,
no one willing to stick their palms into
the snowy mash of winter leaves above
each of my shoulders.
Natalie: was it in his parent’s basement or
by the playground adjacent river bed
that you told him?
Were you on your back already and cold
with your coat off, shirt pushed up?
Logan had thin hands, blond hair, or that’s
what I remember now. Natalie: did you
look up at him and imagine all the ways you
Natalie: where did you go and what color do
you wear your hair now? Do you remember
me, when you told me I was beautiful and the
way I always noticed your stomach open
over the waist of your jeans? Did you learn
to bleed? Did you learn Spanish? Do you
remember the year you talked fast and stole
my boyfriend? In a way, Natalie, you and
I are friends and meeting for lunch, in a way
I am with you staring into my empty coffee cup.
Natalie: what foundation do you use,
what foundation did you use
then? Do you still get ice
fucked? Are you in Colorado?
I heard you had a baby there
and are not a bad mother.
Sage Calder Hahn grew up in rural Northwest Connecticut and currently lives in Boston where she is a sex educator. Her writing has been featured or is forthcoming in Open Letters Monthly, Souvenir Lit Journal, and Tinderbox Poetry Journal. She is a poetry reader for Adroit Journal.