The Nymph Discovered Her First Orgasm
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because of a man. It happened more midday than night—
the blooming. Her skin crawled, vibrated, refracted
like it’s meant to under the pressure of his mirrored
wall the nymph was supposed to ignore. She had no control
of her belly that jiggled freely or her face—contorted
into someone unrecognizable in those forbidden 
reflections and the seas and trees pulsed into a consuming mouth
until it could eat no more. What was that? She was a butterfly, 
seeing her wings. That was your first, the man whispered 
into her hair. He was not her first. Her skin crawled again, 
like Persephone had reached from her buried home,
clenched the nymph’s neck, and whispered run in her ear. 
This first was no thriving flower to return to, after time 
had its way with her, and the man remained unharmed. 

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Published 2nd September, 2024.


Kendra Boyd earned her Bachelor of Fine Arts degree, emphasis in Poetry and Fiction at UNO. She served on 13th Floor Magazine as Editor-in-Chief and on The Linden Review as Senior Editor. Her poetry can be found in Clockhouse, Meetinghouse Magazine, and Bloodletter Magazine.
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