Rebecca Hutley Poems

Mom, you were always the one I went to for emotional guidance. When my friends tore me apart, you sewed me back up and taught me how to sew myself. You showed me how to cook and the proper way to make pumpkin carving a therapeutic event after a break-up. You taught me that it's never okay to refer to someone as 'gay' because it's never good to be associated with that word, and you never taught me anything that seemed to be common knowledge to everyone else in my grade. You wanted to keep me sheltered, but don't worry. I still learned.

Dad, you were less subtle in your lessons. You taught me how to shoot a bow and how to feel guilty about eating. You taught me how to change a tire and how to feel like the only reason I even bother coming to church is so you don't get mad. As I grew older, you started teaching me more and more. You taught me that I'm not allowed to 'like' things on Facebook unless they're something you agree with. You taught me that I had to be sneaky about my interests, otherwise you'd be disappointed in me.
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When I first moved to this state, I thought everything was so much cleaner.

We had moved away from trash all over the side of the road and rowdy kids who rang our doorbell in the middle of the night and ran.
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