Amanda Hawk lives in Seattle between the roaring planes and concrete jungle.  She splits her time with her son and friends, and the city’s neon lights.  Recently, she has been published in Volney Road Review, The Raven Review, Anti-Heroin Chic, and the winnow magazine.

Crosswalk

I am in Mexico
with my mother
at a crosswalk.

Nineteen, fresh from college
with short sleeve and taboo
stains on my upper right arm.

My tattoo is a dragon
bent in the slivers of black ink;
A beacon for stares as I wander the streets.

Hand dance across my arm';
snap head right
to find my skin held hostage

by a smooth apron waiter-
a complete stranger-
a grown man.

His touch traces my dragon
a fingertip tongue fondles me;
swallows up my outline

and his dark eyes smile
sharp tooth as he hisses
Is this real?

My mother snatches me
from the wolf’s mouth
and tugs me across the street.

Now,
I am a grown woman

in my forties
and at every crosswalk

I feel the ghost of his hands
salivating, chomping at my back.

And, I always look over my shoulder to make sure
he didn’t follow me home.