Two Girls

She was up front, said:


I had sex. I’m not a virgin now.


The ribs of the steering wheel

expanded, pressing into my grip.


So. She said.


On the windshield: dead insects and

dust thrown off bird wings at impact.


The guy. I said.




And we rode forth in single syllables

except for the word virgin, which fell


from her passenger-side window,

broke open against the shoulder.

Arden Levine is a D.C.-born Brooklynite. In 2015, her poems appeared or are forthcoming in AGNI, Rattle, Sixth Finch, The Delmarva Review, Free State Review, Bodega Magazine, and Underwater New York, and were featured in Emotive Fruition and the New York City Poetry Festival. Arden is a reader for Epiphany, holds a Master of Public Administration from New York University, and consults to nonprofit organizations.