after all.
An anchor
digs into
my chest.
Fine.
I trade Renny
my best
flannel shirt
for a day
with
his truck.
Renny takes
the shirt and
I head off
to surprise
my
flaky
art student
of a
boyfriend.
159
Surprise Visit, October
The campus is
so much bigger
and fancier
than I ever thought.
Marble pillars and
cobbled paths.
Definitely not out of
an old dairy
and lumber town.
The women here wear
heels and leather jackets.
Makeup that
makes them look French
and cat-like.
I have no idea
which dorm is his.
I’m counting on him
being in the library,
cramming. But,
as I cross the courtyard,
I hear, “Hannah?”
I turn. And say,
“Victoria?”
160
In the flesh.
She wears
a bright red
miniskirt and
a sheer midriff shirt.
A kerchief
tied around her neck
to complete
the outfit.
Blonde hair
puffs out
to her shoulders
as she stretches
her long
model legs
beside a man-made
pond.
I’m planning on
just giving her
a grade-A
stink eye and
walking by.
Then I do
a double-take.
There’s a boy sitting
so close to her.
Too close.
He’s wearing
a button-up
161
black shirt
with the V
opened up
on his chest.
Neatly trimmed
Beard.
Close-cropped
haircut on the sides
with
the top longer
and slicked back.
But
those eyes.
Those
bright green
eyes and a
stray dark curl
poking out on
his temple.
“Ezra?”
162
A Betrayal
Now I’m
walking fast.
Straight
toward them.
I can’t
help it.
Ezra jumps up
in surprise.
Victoria just
looks me
up and down
in my
oversized
sweater,
loose
jeans,
and
ratty
beanie.
And
laughs.
“You look
just like
your brother,”
she snickers.
163
“So
what’s
wrong
with
that,
princess?”
I shoot back.
I look
to Ezra for
some form
of support.
Now it’s
my turn
to be
surprised.
Ezra looks
nervous
and
embarrassed.
“Jeez,
Hannah,”
he says,
under his breath.
“Do you have to be
such a boy
sometimes?”
Before running,
wordless,
to Renny’s
164
truck,
I throw
my whole
stack
of paintings
right
into
the
pond.
I hope all
the colors
run together.
And
the pictures
all blur
beyond
recognition.
Like
his memories.
Like
how I
must have
always been
in his
memory.
165
Quarry, New Moon
I skipped
Coffee Shop
Friday.
That night
the drought
breaks.
Everything
the sky
has been
holding back
thrashes
and
floods.
Rain
beating
down
on the land
as I sit,
sopping wet
and
not
caring
at
all.
It feels
good
to see
166
the water
wailing
and
commanding
the earth
like
the sorceress
it always
was.
That’s right,
I think
to myself.
Water is
the
strongest
force
on
earth.
I am
more
powerful.
And
I will
erode
him.
I realize
all the women
I know
are rivers.
Peaceful.
167
Beautiful.
Able to
calm
a man
with one
look.
Fierce.
Stormy.
Able to
destroy
a man
in one
blow.
Men have tried
to navigate them.
Use them for
their own purposes.
But, when it
comes down to it,
the rivers are
the true force
to be
reckoned with.
Men gain
safe passage
by learning
to respect
a river.
168
Because
the river
gives
and takes
as it chooses.
And,
after all
these years,
I’ve decided
the river
is
a woman.
Yes.
She must be
a woman.
To allow
so many
men
in her waters
and still be
as strong
as she
is.
169
An Uprooting
There is still dirt
under my fingernails
from ripping up
half the plants in
his greenhouse.
The ginkgos
because
I don’t want
to remember.
; The jasmines
because
we’re not
in love.
The clovers
because
I don’t want
to think of him.
There is still dirt
under my fingernails
from him.
There is still him
under my fingernails.
170
An Offering
The night
quickly
grows cold
and dark.
But
I can’t
move.
Can’t
leave.
So I
lie down
and fall
asleep.
I awake to
a wool blanket
draped across
my body.
Logs
crackling.
The smell of
smoke and
a pile of wood
stacked neatly
behind me.
A reflector fire.
171
Laying in
the dirt,
next to the
makeshift pit.
Glowing
in the
orange light
is
a
purple
lighter.
172
Voicemails I Don’t Leave #1
I know
in the beginning
you wanted
more of
a label.
A banner.
A cry to rally
behind.
I didn’t know
how to do that.
This was
the best I had.
The woman
in me
loved the man
Loved the boy
in you.
Loved the woman
in you.
Loved the woman,
the boy woman
in me.
The boy
in me
loved the woman
173
in you.
The woman
in me
loved the woman
in you.
In you, in you,
in you.
The lines blur,
but
I know I loved
in you.
I didn’t know what
to call that.
Or me.
Or us.
I didn’t know I had
to call it anything
in particular.
That,
like a dog,
it would
only answer to
a specific name.
I never wanted
to collar it
anyways.
The woman
in the boy
in the woman in me
loved the woman
in the boy
174
in the woman in you.
But
I do know that,
in the end,
it was
the man
in you
that left
the woman
in me.
Yes.
In the end,
it was
the man.
And that,
in particular.
In naming.
In calling
it out for
what it is.
Is what
is so
hard to
forgive.
175
Voicemails I Don’t Leave #2
Horoscope for tomorrow:
Time is in
the house of
your head.
Your heart is of
its own rising.
Do not forget
the stars
from which
you come.
But
make
your
own
darn
future.
176
Voicemails I Don’t Leave #3
And in the end,
it comes to this.
People are at once
endlessly
more complicated
and
remarkably
more simple
than
I
ever
thought.
177
November
The night of my
art show arrives.
And no one has seen
my new paintings.
I holed myself up
in my room for
the last month
to make them
after drowning
my entire exhibition
in the pond at
Ezra’s school.
I’m wearing a
billowy blue dress,
a plaid shirt,
my usual Converse sneakers,
and a nervous smile.
One by one,
the town piles in.
Teachers.
Classmates.
My river rafting boss.
Renny.
Sam.
They circle the room
without speaking.
178
Take in
my portraits.
Portraits of my
water dreams.
A painting of
a single flame
lit inside
a waterfall.
Portrait of
longing.
A painting of
waves crashing
through the open doors
of a half-ruined barn.
Portrait of
misplacement.
A painting of
a violinist
fiddling underwater in
a hidden bog.
Portrait of
fantasy.
And so on.
179
A Recognition
The coffee shop
eventually empties.
Sam and I
sit down
to split
a chocolate banana
milkshake.
He’s still looking up
at the paintings
in the kind
of trance
I first found
him in
all those
years ago.
Then,
he turns to me
and says,
“Your titles
feel right.
But
they’re also
missing something
important.”
“And what’s that?”
180
I ask,
shooting my
straw wrapper
at his chest.
“They’re
self-portraits,
181
January
I’ve been
talking
to Renny
lately
about college
next year.
About
going away
to school
on the
other side
of the
country.
Leaving is
a scary thought.
But
never leaving
scares me, too.
I want to be
in an
outdoor program
where I can
learn to guide
bigger water.
Plus I’ve
never lived
by the ocean.
182
And,
well.
Like all water,
I kind of
always knew
I’d find myself
ending up there.
I’ll come home
to visit
as much
as I can.
I’ve already
promised Sam
I’d write
every week.
He’s staying
in town
to learn
welding.
He’s
all excited
about getting to
play with
fire
for a living.
183
A Brother’s Advice
Last night
I brought
the stool in.
Talked
the idea
over with
my brother.
I told him
I was
scared.
“What
if
I
can’t
do
it?”
He adjusted
his ball cap
and leaned
forward.
“You know,
Hannah.
Someday
someone
is going to
184
tell you
you can’t
do something.
And then
you’ll go
and do it.
It’ll be
a great
feeling.
But
it’ll make
you wonder
all the things
you didn’t
do before
because someone told you
you couldn’t
and you
could
have.
I believe
in you,”
he added.
185
Wind
Renny,
I’ve decided,
is air.
Wind.
He’s the breath
you need when
everything else
feels like
too much.
He’s the gentle push
in the right direction.
The nudge forward
to help you along.
Wind and water
together
make for either
a smooth day
of sailing or
a perfect storm.
Not
a bad
team.
186
Quarry, Crow Moon
The moon
is full
tonight.
For the
first time,
I burn
a bundle
of
sage.
I pray
for Renny.
For Sam.
For my
last months
of school
and for
the big
trip
west.
Then,
I
pray
for
Ezra.
I pray
that someday
187
he’ll learn
to love
a river.
To respect
the water.
Because then,
maybe,
he’ll know
how
to
treat
a
woman.
188
Water Dream #4
Somehow I know
it is 10 years
or so
in the future.
I’m not sure how.
Because
we look older,
sure. But