In the shouts and shrieks of the high school hallway
outside the cafeteria the bigger guy turns me into
the wall and traps me with a hand on either side of my neck
his face in mine speaks tense and low, breath
full of peanut butter. I heard you’re asking questions
about me. Why? I couldn’t even stammer a denial
afraid he was going to punch me anyway, how long
would he wait before just beating me up? I couldn’t
look at him above the blue and orange striped
shirt (I loved his shirts). If you want to know something
ask me. And then he just left. No blood or bruises, I was
just stunned and ashamed I’d been found out, I did want
to know who he was and why, even with such fear, I was
drawn to his confidence, now even more with his sudden
mercy, since at home all was resolved with screams
and slammed doors. This, this a turning point years
from realization: a gift recalled even decades later
in this Thai restaurant, the peanut sauce.
“Peanut Grace” first appeared in Tar River Poetry