for family fun.
She doesn’t see is
tin shacks with no floors
sick kids with no medicine
bucket toilets and dirty water
empty plates and bloated bellies.
She says I shouldn’t
think so much about things
that happen so far away
in places where people
are grateful for any job.
She blames Mr. Dawe
for filling our heads
with negative thoughts
and making us see the world
as one big ugly place.
But I say
not seeing the world
that way is what
made the world
that way in the first place .
Christopher says
we’re both right
but that’s not
what I wanted
to hear.
NOW
Christopher
Now, we’re the dynamic
duo, standing
near the doors,
enlightening
the zombies
shopping
blindly,
unaware,
like I was
before
Annabelle.
Now, we’re a force
that can’t be
ignored,
the two of us
so close,
two flyers
coming at them,
two bodies
to sidestep
or stare
down.
Now, when our fingers
freeze, we reach
for each others’
and feel the heat
flow back in
through
our gloves.
Now, if only I could forget
what we’re really
doing here.
RULES OF THE ROAD
Christopher's Father
Suddenly you are
taller
smarter
deeper
older
and slightly colder
to me,
Like you think
if you get too close
you will become
a child again.
I’d like to give you
advice,
tell you that
how you act now will
shape the man
you become,
set the stage
for future
relationships,
form the prototype
against which
you measure
your success,
But I’m no longer
at the helm,
steering
the toboggan
with you clinging
to my back,
or leading the way
through traffic
on our bikes,
teaching you
the rules of the road,
your hand
seeking mine
at street corners,
waiting for lights
to turn green.
The only thing
in front of you
now is your conscience.
May it steer you
well.
On the Inside
Annabelle
Mr. Dawe encourages us
to enter the mall
instead of standing
like stone pillars
at the doors, as though
we have no right
to be inside, among
the shoppers.
He says we’d have more
impact getting them
right at the scene
of their crimes, our
actions doubled
in glass storefronts,
the innocent shoppers
caught by our lures:
Powder blue flyers
promo-junk, two-for-one,
buy-one-get-one-free,
except that when they
open them they see
Asian girls sleeping
in a toy factory dorm
tight as a submarine,
Two rows of bunks
stretching forever,
like an image caught
in a dressing room
mirror, reflecting
into infinity, which
is what their days
must feel like, seven
to ten, short breaks
and little food.
I wonder if they sometimes
stab their fingers on
their needles just to jab
themselves awake and
if they do, do they
think of Sleeping Beauty,
who at least got to sleep
for one hundred years
before being rescued
by Prince Charming?
Modulation
A harmonic progression
Mary
It does get easier,
just like my teacher said
it would, playing
in front of a crowd.
I remind myself that
even Chopin said
the days leading up to
a performance were hell.
I like knowing that Annabelle
and Christopher are up there
controlling the lights.
I can feel them sending
warm vibes over
the third floor crowd
whose reactions I can never read.
The first few weeks my stomach
roiled like a stormy sea, my fingers
slipped on the keys, and my feet
clomped across the stage.
Once, the bench scraped back
by mistake, echoing
like a long fart
through the air.
Another time I turned my page
too hard and sent the sheets
fluttering, out of order,
to the floor.
But most days nothing bad happens and
I simply play, forgetting about people,
focusing only on the music
that flows from my fingers
Letting it spin a colourful cocoon around me,
hiding me until the director
shouts “next” and I
can leave.
Pearl
Annabelle
Mary is like a pearl when
she plays, so shiny
and polished.
Before, she was inside the oyster
and no one knew she
could play
Except me and her parents
and her teacher.
I hope
That when Christopher does the lights,
he turns them on her
full blast
To make sure she stands out
because knowing Mary
as I do
She will want to crawl inside
the shell of the
piano
And curl up there,
tiny as a grain
of sand.
INSIDE THE MALL
Christopher
I was okay with parking lots
and sidewalks, and sticking flyers
under windshield wipers,
and
marching in a circle
round and round
outside the entrance.
But going inside was another story,
especially when my aunt
stepped out of The Gap
with my cousin’s present
looped over her arm.
She started to walk toward me
but I turned away and froze,
hoping she’d get the message
and stay away. Then
I had to watch Annabelle
run up to her and shove
a flyer inside the blue bag.
I wondered: would my aunt
wrap it up with the present?
Opening Me Up
Annabelle
Christopher
opens me up
like a room
I never knew I had.
Inside
that room is a me
who laughs
and kisses his neck
and combs his hair
with my fingers.
Last night
walking from
his house to mine,
after rehearsal,
counting our steps
but losing track
after two thousand,
the numbers trailing
away in giggles
that turned to kisses
Christopher
said, let’s kiss
every prime number
so we did: 1, 3, 5, 7, 11, 13, 17, 19, 23, 29, 31, 37
until the kisses grew
too far between.
Let’s kiss every
even number, I said
so we did, kissing
every second step
until we were at my door,
the light in my mom’s
room telling me she
was up, waiting.
Hiding
behind a bush
Christopher asked
if I knew how far
we were from
Venus, and when I
shook my head he said,
40,400,000 kilometers
which is how far I feel
from you when you’re here
and I’m at home.
We kissed
behind the bush, away
from the light until
we heard the front
door open and saw
my mom sniff
the night air, as if
she could smell
our wanting
each other
so bad.
Christopher
said 480 degrees—
that’s the temperature
of two things:
Venus and me
right now
I Know How It Happens
Annabelle's Mom
That first kiss, that first real kiss
where you feel yourself
go hot all
over
And the whole world melts away
until there is just the two
of you in a vacuum
of sound and
touch
That is when it happens, the heat
rising, your bodies groping
more and more toward
each other, leaving
your rational
mind be-
hind.
That’s how it happened for me at
sixteen at a party, upstairs,
the thump of the music
below, like our
pulses turned
on high
And next thing I knew I’d done it,
clothes half on, half off, in a
stranger’s bed with a guy
I barely knew, his beer
breath asking if I was
okay and me acting
tough, saying yes,
when really I
was wet and
scared.
Nine months later Annabelle arrived,
pink and precious, named after my
favourite Poe poem, one line
now so true: I was a child
and she was a child,
the two of us raw
and kicking,
fighting
for life.
So I know how it happens, Annabelle.
Against Me
Annabelle
Today, the waitress at the deli
put my plate down and smiled
right at me, as if she could see
into my heart—big and bursting
like the red pepper in the jar.
I made a happy face of my meal,
two eggs sunny side up
a tomato nose and bacon mouth,
and my mom asked what’s gotten
into me, as if she doesn’t know.
When she met Christopher, she shook
his hand hard, squeezing it
like she wanted to trap it
and make sure he couldn’t
use it against me.
WEIGHT
Mark
Her presence is starting to weigh me down.
She wants something from me, something
I thought I wanted to give her,
but can’t.
My dad used to weigh me down, too.
His expectations sat on my shoulders,
dark and heavy as that bomb
on his roof.
My mom does it to me too, at home.
The way she shuffles around, sighing heavily, like
she’s looking for signs to tell her
which way to go.
Alien
Christopher
My friends treat me like aliens have
beamed me up and snuck
an android into
my body.
It’s like they can’t figure out how
I got Annabelle to go out
with me, a former
nobody.
They don’t know whether they can slap
my back, mess up my hair, or play-
punch me, like they would
anybody else,
All because the magical touch
of a beautiful girl has
turned me into a
somebody.
Crossing the Line
Annabelle
Mr. Dawe is in trouble for pushing us into the mall.
The administration rapped his knuckles for crossing
a line between teaching us about the world
and interfering in the community.
They told him it’s okay to organize booths
at school, but gathering with students at malls,
then harassing people inside those malls,
is way beyond the teacher’s code of conduct.
Mr. Dawe disagrees. He says learning doesn’t stop
at the school gates. It’s everywhere, and what better place
to learn about the warped values of consumer society
than at the mall—the modern day town square?
We all agree with him
and want to start a petition,
but since we are only seven
members, it seems hopeless.
Mr. Dawe says not to worry. He has no intention
of slowing down. Rome wasn’t built in a day
and if all the makers and shakers of history had quit
so easily, there would have been no progress.
Believe it or not, our flyers
are as
powerful as stones or bullets.
They can help change the world,
one thought at a time.
All I Need to Know
Stacey
Mark drives the Mini over bridges,
the water under us
frozen and gray.
We pass sleepy summer towns,
boarded up
and hibernating.
The roads are lined with trees,
tall and stiff
as exclamation marks.
Mark’s face is completely closed,
his peppery stubble
dark and scratchy.
Way behind us, the rehearsal
is on, which means
I’m off the show.
On the back seat, my homework
lies untouched, my
marks are falling fast—
And in my mind the memory
of Mark’s affection
is fading faster.
Back home, my parents
are angry, begging
me to stay home.
Ahead of us, the mountains
are folded over,
brown and angry.
Under me, my fingers are crossed
as I pray we
won’t drive up them.
Telling Annabelle
Christopher
How can I tell
Annabelle
That, in a way,
I agree
With the school
about not crossing
The line
into the mall?
Mr. Dawe says
our flyers
Are as powerful
as bullets
But do people
like my aunt
Really deserve
to get shot?
Appassionata
Mary
With passion
Two more weeks now
before the show.
Late night, all-dressed
pizza supper,
Ten extra-large
boxes piled high,
Got to join in
can’t hold back.
Make-up, costumes,
dress-rehearsal,
White silky shirt,
flowing white skirt,
Foundation, blush,
mascara,
Stacey’s replace-
ment stepping up.
In the mirror
a stranger stands,
Lipstick smile,
unfamiliar:
Me, but not me,
new me, old me.
Joining in, as
best I can, part-
icipating,
zipping dresses,
Encouraging
words, break a leg.
My turn, the light