I met him in a bar, nineteen, home from college
on winter break, same as he.  On dates, we drank

draft beer from glasses, played pool. At his sister’s
venison feed, he showed me off to relatives.

He drove us to Bear Den Road in the city park
to talk, listen to the radio, and neck for hours.

He never went too far.  His car’s heater was hot
like his kisses.  I could feel the muscles in his arms,

like steel, protecting me.  I was crazy in love with him.
After awhile, he wanted me to say that Jesus

was my savior.  I wouldn’t, couldn’t.  Even then, I knew.
The only thing that would save me from me was myself.

Candace Hennekens is a writer, artist, and sewer living on the banks of the Eau Claire River.  Her short book of poems, photos, and chicken facts titled "Rented Chickens" is available at The Local Store

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