The Girls of the Midwest
after Katie Schmid after Ben Marcus

The Girls of the Midwest have mothers who never speak of pleasure—their fathers speak of it,
but only as a warning. The Girls hold their bodies like loaded rifles: shouldered and bulky,
fingering the trigger. They hold their bodies like breath: eyes shut, the water teasing at their
nostrils like a coming threat. The boys at school play pleasure like a guitar riff. The boys leave
the locker room flushed and fresh, their wet hair curled and smiling on their necks. The Girls
hold their bodies like batons: paraded, tossed, a near fumble, and then caught. They hold their
bodies like firecrackers: a dare that lasts until their hands get hot. There is a pleasure-sized hole
in the health textbook. The Girls imagine around the absence. They hold their bodies like
steering wheels: at ten and two, a hip and a hip, a shoulder and a shoulder. They hold their bodies
like frogs on dissection day: splayed and waiting. In the bathroom at the dance, the Girls lean
forward into dirty mirrors, pushing pleasure up and out of their necklines. They hold their bodies
like movie tickets: a means of entry, rom-com-blockbuster-horror-flick hungry. They hold their
bodies like beer cans: slick and cold, crushed when empty. Pleasure nips at the Girls’ heels each
time they walk into the woods. They hold their bodies like tree limbs: a foothold to some higher
place. They hold their bodies like blunts: close to a flame, then passed from hand to hand. The
riot of cicadas and their endless fuck-crooning is pleasure to their ears. The Girls pray that one
day they might join that chorus. They hold their bodies like firewood: to be gathered, cut, and
burned. They hold their bodies like flint: struck, scraped, summoning fire. Pleasure gnaws away
at the tinder. The Girls of the Midwest have bodies that hold light like candles, their hair frayed
and skywards like a wick. All night, pleasure roasts tender on a spit.

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Kim Ramos is a queer Filipina writer from Southern Missouri. They currently reside in Providence, Rhode Island, as a graduate student of philosophy at Brown University where they study consent and sexual ethics. Their debut chapbook, Alive, Today, Again! was the first-runner up of the 2023 Flume Press Chapbook Contest and selected for publication. They are also the author of The Beginner’s Guide to Minor Gods and Other Small Spirits (Unsolicited Press, 2023). They have been previously published in Southern Humanities Review, Lantern Review, and Quarterly West, among others. They dream of becoming a giant rabbit and haunting the Midwest. You can read more of their work at kimramoswrites.carrd.co