To the Muggers of My Grandmothers

As girls of the cul-de-sac it was our job to show the new ones 
how it was done. Show them the head full of bees, the shapes 
we continued to resurrect before getting it right. 
Little Lavinias with our hair on fire, good luck before war—
or tongues torn out for theatrics. Silence the new opposite of tragedy. 

We’d stand in a straight line, shoulder deep in chlorine, legs open 
below the water to form a tunnel for the new girls to swim through. 
We’d wait until they’d get right to the middle, 
then on the count of one, two 

we’d close our legs to trap them there. Laugh as they tried to find 
their way to the surface. We all took turns 
swimming through the tunnel, convinced we were the ones
fast enough to make it through to the other side. 
It continued in this way for years, in and out of the water. 

And like a bad first date it all came down to narrative.
To the name you give a thing before you know it intimately. 
So of course, they said we taught the game to ourselves. 

Even though the man bit my mother during a work function 
and the Pastor made all us girls promise: wed, bed, then bled 
(Did I say bled? I meant blessed.) Even though the boys we met 
demanded love, wanted blood on the downy pillows as proof,

while their mothers clipped coupons and would not shake our hands. 
Even when the muggers of both my grandmothers 
closed the space between hand and swath of neck. 

We’d been coming along nicely before that. Now we let
the flower’s wilt on purpose, death not always unbecoming.
We wonder what pretty horses there must be in places 
where horses run wild. Keep the new girls underwater 
for longer and longer. Each gasping breath, a new bright start. 


JESSICA HINCAPIE lives in Austin, TX where she received her MFA in poetry from the University of Texas and is currently the Program Director for the Writing Barn, a writing workshop and retreat space in South Austin. You can find her work in print and online in various publications, including The Indiana Review, Gulf Coast, Ruminate Magazine, Carve Magazine, the minnesota review (forthcoming), and elsewhere. Follow her at @jesshincapie or visit her website: jessicahincapie.com