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

might bleed? 


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.