We typed the word clitoris into Google
and found a numbered diagram,
then spent hours with a small mirror,
comparing.
That one night when Sara
got into a car with a boy,
we all knew it was a mistake.
No one said anything when she
walked back smiling, limping.
We sat there ruined,
watching her clean the blood
from her skirt with spit.
In the lunchroom, Hussein tells us
what it felt like for him. We’re mesmerized.
Imagine, he says, pointing to my mouth,
pushing an entire finger
into the gap
between your front teeth.
The girl beside me shudders.
You know she begged me? Even though it hurt
she still begged me, kept whispering:
make me normal, please
make me normal, open me up.