About
Monday Morning
I’d padded downstairs this morning
To find the coffee
Poured into the white plastic pitcher
Stained brown around the spout
A plate of eggs shrouded with a napkin on the table
Love you, Rae
He’d written it on the napkin in ballpoint pen
First blue
Then black
Because the ink must have run dry
That’s why he always carries two
Sometimes three
In the breast pocket of his snap-button shirt
I bypassed the eggs
Yolks melted into the napkin
Oiling the paper clear
Reaching
Into the wooden carousel rack beside the toaster
Packed with spices and extracts
For the blue packets tucked behind the vanilla
Pouring the contents
Twice as sweet as sugar
Into the coffee
Blue’s at my feet
The plate of eggs goes on the floor for him
He looks at me
At the plate
At me
Wondering
If this delicious doggie dream is for real
Go ahead.
My dog
The fool-proof vault
Pushes the plate with his nose across the linoleum
Vulches the breakfast that scares me
It doesn’t scare me
Recheck mental thesaurus
Delete “scare”
Insert “interest”
I’ve been so good since Saturday
The belt buckle might be
Must be some sort of talisman
Because I’m on my longest stretch ever
Food-free
X hours
And counting
I Should
Get ready
Go to school
But the thing is
Asia’s truck
Won’t start
She called
Let me know
I go for the coffee
A second cup
Straight up
Black
And onto the couch
Extract
The remote
From between the cushions
Flipping through the television channels
Balancing the coffee cup on my knees
Watching
Two boys rolling plastic tanks and trucks
Through a miniature army base
Lakes—sand traps—camouflage tents
Never mentioning how different the game looks
Played on the dirt floor of a barn
A trio of girls posing maternal
Cuddling dolls
Never mentioning how easy it is to lose
The miniature shoes-clothes-jewelry
Or how odd the dolls look
When they’re half-naked
Falling forward onto their large chests
Unable to relax their heels against the ground
Coming to rest on the neighbor I wish I had
Curling up at the end of the couch as he slips into a cardigan
Ties his denim shoes
Welcoming me into his home with his nursery-rhyme voice
Showing me
His neighbor
A film flickering in a picture-frame screen
About how pretzels are made
I notice for the first time that the clock
Inhabited by the tiger wearing a watch
Has no hands
Freeing the trolley to come and go as it pleases
Never late
I wonder how attached Dad is to the gold arms
Circling the face of the clock above the stove
With pictures of cowboy hats for numbers
Somehow that neighbor
The one I wish I had
Gets me to thinking about Lacey
My teddy bear buddy
The thought of her sitting stiff and straight on a carpet square
Staring at her shoes
Pulls me off the couch
Sends me upstairs to get dressed
Not really caring what I put on
Even though my legs look bigger
Fatter
Are they?
I could
Should
Weigh myself
But the coffee in my stomach
Will register
As pounds
A sweatshirt over my head
Shoes on my feet
I won’t weigh myself, because if I’ve gained
I’ll be in a bad mood
I can’t, won’t, will
I am quick, quick, super quick
Into my bathroom
Onto the scale
And I’m down
Two pounds
Down
It feels so good
I’m so good
Flying down the stairs
Out the door
Into the ranch truck
With primer-gray doors and the vinyl-backed calendar stuck to the dash
A complimentary gift to Dad and me
Cattle sellers
Valued customers
Awarded a year in miniature
Looking into the rearview mirror I realize I forgot
To conceal
The circles beneath my eyes
To thicken-lengthen-strengthen
My lashes black
To smooth my hair
Rumpled by my pillows on the couch
Nothing a ball cap wouldn’t cover
That a kindergartener would notice
Halfway down the road
With the dust and gravel blowing from under the tires
Shooting behind the tailgate in a plume of dirt and granite
Blue’s head pops up
From the truck bed
Where he’s been hiding
Laid flat in the middle of the soda cans and rope
Baling twine and tools
Teased to his feet
By the rumbling and the moving
Tasting the air flying by with his tongue
Lolling out the side of his mouth
Stump of a tail wiggling back and forth
Standing tall on the wheel well
Destination unknown
Safety First
According to the numbers
On the clock
On the dash
I have a few minutes
To spare
My head
Started to hurt
On the drive in
So I duck
Into the drugstore
Walk down aisles lined with toothpaste and feminine hygiene items
Around the carousel displaying postcards
With scenic images of Salida Springs
Or someplace that looks a lot like here anyway
Kept in stock in case a tourist ever came through
Not that they’d be entirely welcome if they did
And find the shelves
At the end of the aisle with
Plastic toy soldiers
Squirt guns
And yo-yos
That holds what I am looking for
Ibuprofen
Extra strength
Because a minimalist
I’m not
My hand grabs a bottle
But my eyes linger
&nb
sp; On the first aid supplies
That fill the shelf
Below
Snag on the row of tiny brown bottles
Between the bandages and the gauze
“For emergency use”
The label reads
“To cause vomiting in case of poison”
I grab one
Plus a box of Band-Aids
Just to make it look
Right
This purchase
That now includes
A bottle
Of ipecac syrup
Not that I’ll take it
I’ll keep it on hand
Just
In
Case
The box of Band-Aids falls from my hand
Clatters to the floor
Perfect opportunity
To bend down
look behind
Over my shoulder
To make sure no one sees
As I slip
This little brown bottle
Into the pocket of my Carhartts
The Band-Aids go back on the shelf
And I head toward the front counter
Hand in my pocket
Fingers wrapped around
This thing
I can’t be seen
Buying
“Playing hooky today?”
Harley grins from beneath his ball cap
As he takes the cash from my hand
No. Just a late start. Truck broke down.
“That’s no good,” he says as he throws in a candy bar
for good measure.
“Something to sweeten your day,” he says, chuckling at his own joke.
Twin
His black lab
Born the only dog in the litter
Comes around from behind the counter
Wiggles his stump of a tail
The rest of it left behind in a barbwire fence when he was a pup
I scratch his ears
Grab my bag
Walk out of the store
Secret
In hand
I Better
Lacey sits forward on the carpet in the reading corner
Wants a better look
At my belt buckle
I’ve pulled the bottom edge of my sweatshirt up
But she actually wants to hold it
I unbuckle my belt
Slide it through the loops of my jeans
Lacey lays the belt out full-length on the carpet between us
It looks so long that way
There are three notches
Worn wider
Darker than the rest
Small
Medium
Large
Extra small
Just
One
More
Notch
My jeans are slip-sliding down my waist
I roll the top down
Lacey notices and laughs
“Your pants are too big. You need to go shopping for some right size ones.”
I guess. Maybe I should put my belt back on.
“Yeah, you better.”
I better
Stay focused on
This goal
That’s obviously
Paying off
So Brave
Blood turns black
When it’s dead
That’s how Lacey describes it
Gently pulling the Band-Aid back
Careful to leave half stuck to her skin
Partially covering the scab
Where the gravel tore into her elbow
When the wheels of her bike went sideways
Throwing her against the road
That’s what her scab is
Blood turned black
Hidden beneath an antiseptic strip of plastic
Decorated with black-and-white spotted dogs
Smooth as the beanbags crunching beneath our weight
Lacey smooths the Band-Aid back into place
Pressing it firm
Pointing out how her fingernails
Painted glittery and pink
Match the puppy’s tongues
“It didn’t hurt. Very much.”
You’re so brave, I say.
Did you do any art this morning? I ask.
Because I never ask what I’m actually wondering
If I did, I’d ask Lacey how it is
With Kierra
If she’s the kind of big sister who hugs Lacey when she falls
Or the kind who finger-pokes words that make Lacey feel small
For not having been more careful
“Yes.” She walks over to the table covered with papers lined up edge to edge
Four down, six across
I don’t know why I remember that
But I do
The dimensions of a classroom table measured in construction paper rectangles
Lacey shoves her hands into the back pockets of her jeans
Looks for her square of paper
It’s on the edge
The last one on the bottom row
She touches the paint with the tip of her pointer finger
It must come away clean
Because she picks up her picture
Carries it over
There is a black crayon line
Bisecting the paper
“Do you like ballerinas?” she asks.
I nod
Wondering why she’s pointing
At the crayon image with her index finger
Pressing the tip into the chest of the caricature’s triangle body
Suddenly caring more about this ballerina
With a featureless face and matchstick legs
Than her shoes
“Because if you don’t like ballerinas, you can look at the rainbow.”
She lifts her finger
But not her eyes
Pointing to the other half of the page
At the rainbow
Black and gray
Layered one on top of the other
I lay my hand on the page next to Lacey’s
Covering up the rainbow with my palm
“Do you know what?” she whispers.
What? I’m whispering too
Lacey’s hand finds my knee
Balls up a fold of my jeans in her fist
“I already knew about blood.
How it turns black when it’s dead.
I saw it before.
On the rug.
Under her head.
My mom’s.”
Your mom—
“She’s gone.”
Looking at her looking at me
With eyes that won’t ever forget
All I can see is her scream
Hanging in the air
Falling
Because her mother isn’t there to catch it
Hooky
I watched my feet walk down the hall
Out of the conversation I broke in half
Without even meaning to
I just couldn’t listen
Couldn’t focus
On what Asia was saying
I thought I could
I intended to
Meet Asia at the door of the classroom
Fifth period
Where Kierra sits across the aisle from me
Blood turns black
Blood turns black
Blood turns black
Stop thinking
Instead I walked
Minus five
Across the asphalt
Minus five
Felt the sun on my neck
Minus five
My shoulders
Minus five
The small of my back
Minus
Rinsing away the smell of peanut butter and disinfectant
Five
I rolled down the window in the truck
As I pulled out of the parking lot
Felt the wind
Sharp with dust
There were my feet
Stepping out of the truck
Out of my sandals
Across the gravel driveway and onto the grass
The wet cold of Blue’s nose nuzzling my hand
Twisting and wiggling around my legs
When my hands find Fancy’s neck
Rubbing her around the ears
The fingers threaded through her mane almost look
Feel
Like my own
Connected to the body
Straddling her back
Inhaling the grass and the sky
Moving toward the lake that’s more like a pond
Edged with sand and silt
Feel the water climb up my calves
As we splash away from the shore
Step until the sand and silt fall away
Leave her hooves to churn the water and the emptiness beneath
Swimming
The water lifts my body off her back
To float
Here in the now
That is my arms
Moving through her mane
Swirling on top of the water
I can almost
Believe
This body
Is my own
Hindsight is Better
It’s a flat-footed statement
An accusation
“You’re okay,” Asia says.
I’m okay.
Glad we’re on the phone
Because I’m cleaning, cleaning, cleaning
Organizing my closet
“You walking out of school today is okay?”
I’m sorry, I know I should have—
“People worry, you know, when you disappear. I mean, you’ve been so—”
What?
My fingers find my collarbone
minus five
Because I’ve been so
minus five
Frustrated
That my closet
Is
So
Full
“Different lately. You just take off, in the middle of school, the middle of lunch. You never eat anymore. You act like no one notices, but—”
My hands move fast
Pull sweatshirts out of my closet
Send them flying
Across my room
Onto my bed
I’m not doing this.