Melissa Fite Johnson
EASTER PANTOUM
cw: sexual assault
My friends don’t know their part in it. No alcohol, they assured,
so we went to the party, my alcoholic boyfriend and me.
Adult Easter egg hunt, slips of paper inside,
each with a drink order. Alcohol: the point of the party.
So my boyfriend and I went to the party.
That night, his hand over my mouth. That night,
after all those drink orders—the whole point—
he pinned me to his bedroom floor.
That night, his hand over my mouth. That night…
Each year, I decide to forget. Each year, I can’t.
He pinned me to his bedroom floor.
Confession: I blame my friends as much as my rapist.
Each year, I decide to forget. Each year, I can’t.
He felt remorse, he understood what he did—
unlike my friends, who blamed only him.
I last saw him at the public library five years ago.
When he saw me: remorse. He understood.
He lives in his car now, or at least he did
five years ago, last I saw him. He sat in a library chair
with no books, trying to stay warm. Winter.
Those friends and I live hours apart now.
I let them go in the unsatisfying way of hanging up a cell phone.
We still send holiday cards: warm winter wishes!
They don’t know I let them go. We should catch up,
we say. We’ll call. Unsatisfying, no closure.
Tonight: rainstorm. My husband and I
caught walking our dogs. The heavy clouds let it all go.
I wish I could. I wanted to forgive them by the end of this poem.
Tonight: my husband and I laughing in the rain.
Easter, again. More than twenty years later. Tonight: baptism.
I want to forgive them by the end of my life—
it’s a beautiful life. My friends don’t know their part in it.