A Dream of Sleep
it’s cold tonight
will I be all right?
or freeze from fright
no friends in sight
it’s dark in here
I sit and stare
Gauguin’s art, aware
Melanie’s teddy bear
it’s time for bed
what’s in my head?
I gave up Ted
chose lies instead
it’s rather late
who did I date?
didn’t appreciate
must clean that slate
it’s over now
I’ll manage, how?
if friends allow
my humbled bow
sleep heavenly
sleep fatherly
sleep
I want to
sleep lovingly
sleep peacefully
sleep
deep
sleep
weep
sleep
please
keep
me in my
sleep
Summer’s End
A week goes by without talking to Dad.
I don’t have to go to rallies
I don’t have to listen to people chant
For the people, not payoffs!
He doesn’t push or lecture,
just ignores me, too busy
taking Jane places.
Where are they always going?
It’s a mysterious side of Dad.
His new form of parenting—
Ignore your child and she’ll change.
Ever since the latest gossip
with Dad’s opponent came to light
—my scandal trumped by his—
I should feel free to
enjoy the waning days of summer
roamexploreshop
thinkcreaterelaxchillenjoy
but I don’t.
I’m trapped in my head
held hostage by my anger.
I paint redorange
yellow
streaks across canvas
messy disorganized
real
understandable
angry
lonely
paintings of my thoughts.
I feel deserted, betrayed,
and since I’ve got nowhere to go
no boyfriendno rallies
I spend most of my time in my bedroom
pretending senior year
will remake me
here at summer’s end.
News
Melanie visits me while I paint.
I’ve become her full-time nanny
as Jane and Dad traipse around town.
Melanie holds Missy.
Says she’s not a baby, but Missy is.
Ironically, I know how she feels,
tell her she’s a big girl.
She relaxes.
Melanie:Daddy’s taking Mommy to the doctor again.
I peer over my canvas
pause
rewind
replay.
They hadn’t said where they were going or why.
They hadn’t said when they’d be back.
Me:What do you mean?
Melanie:Mommy’s sick.
Me:No, she’s not.
Melanie:Yes, she’s sick.
Her words stick, thick like they’re stuck,
puffy and infected on Melanie’s tongue.
She stares down at Missy, missing
my inquisitive look.
You’re confusing your mom with mine.
Your life is perfect. Your mom is fine.
I think this, but seeing her
faceclenched handssqueeze Missy
I ache for her.
Remembering how Mom
consumedconfusedcompletely capsized
me with worry.
I stroke her hair, try to slow her little-girl tears.
More than a dirty face that needs to be cleaned,
or a meddling sister I want to avoid,
she’s a little girl, little sister,
scared and lonely.
Is Jane really sick?
Thinking back on the Sunday breakfast,
pancakes and crying,
Janie avoiding my question about driving herself,
her doctor’s appointment,
her constant headaches,
Dad blowing up—
it’s all starting to sink in.
Maybe the pearls aren’t so perfect.
We snuggle like sisters.
Melanie:Is Mommy going to die?
Die?
People like Jane don’t die.
People like Mom shouldn’t die.
Then, people like me and Melanie
have to live—stuck.
I ask Melanie why she thinks this.
Tells me Jane
has headaches
getting her head “looked at”
a big machine
throwing up a lot.
I listen
hold Melanie,
we fall asleep like this
paint drying on canvas
tears drying on face
Missy returning to curl up
between our legs.
Stereotyping Jane
and the headaches
and the pain
and the plain way she looks
and the way she makes me insane—
rubbing her temples as if
I’m so vain
and how simply she
replaced Mom like a
repairman swaps out a windowpane
and her name
Mrs. Henderson, not just
Jane
and the bland way she
walks
talks
speaks
eats her chow mein
and now I think that
everything I thought
and yep, I thought about it
a lot
and now, I think that
everything I thought
might not be quite
the same.
Mistakes and Identities
I tuck Melanie into her bed
kiss her forehead.
She mistakes me for Jane,
calls me Mommy
knocking the breath out of me.
Amazed at what it feels like
from the other side
I pretend to be
a mom,
her mom.
I play along so she’ll sleep,
but I’m far from
picture perfect
poised
larger than life
in a portrait on Dad’s wall.
I’m far from Jane
controlledcontained
I’m far from Jane
primplain.
I’m so unlike her, but
do I hate her?
I wish I could take it back,
I hate you
knowing now how it feels
to be kissed by Melanie and
loved like a mom.
Maybe my heart isn’t quite so hard.
I pad back to my room
and paint two girls
holding hands
hopping happily along
carrying two stones
together.
The Next Morning
I wake up early
practici
ng for senior year starting next week
and make brewberry pancakes.
Things feel hopeful
better
not sick or somber
like a summer filled
with drugs and parties
shaking hands
alienating friends
hoping to win an election,
losing X.
Melanie bounces into the kitchen.
Dad finds his way in with the paper.
Jane …
I smile at Dad for the first time
in what feels like all summer.
Me:More syrup?
I offer, meaning
I’m sorry for … everything.
Dad:Sure.
Dad says, meaning
I know. I am too.
Melanie cleans her plate
Dad finishes his paper
Jane …
I can be the bigger person,
head upstairs with some juice
my truce.
The wooden stairs creak
under my feet
my heart pounding,
should I knock
or apologize
or turn around
and toss the juice
leaving things how they are?
Cracking her bedroom door,
She’s on the phone.
Jane:I’ll be fine …
don’t want to be a burden
like his first wife.
I remember
Mom’s face, sick, sad, and swollen
I remember
her headscarf crooked, stained with puke
I remember
Jane’s perfect smile pasted on the campaign trail,
and I wonder
if I bring her this juice do I want this truce?
She’s not my mom.
She can take over the house, but she can’t
take over my heart
take Mom’s place.
I take the juice
and toss it
down
the
drain.
Girls in Malls, Boys in Malls
This is a day of sorries—
Dad
April
Gavin
Miguel
myself
minus Jane.
I clear away the formal apologies
with my two best friends, then
I clear my head at the mall.
Finally getting out of the house.
I learn April’s new style for senior year is
no longer Goth or gray
blonde or blood red
but bookish
stepping out of the dressing room in a pink Oxford,
collar up.
I would laugh, but I can’t piss off my friends
so quickly after making amends.
After fifteen texts
ten tardy minutes,
I learn Gavin’s new style for senior year is
study-chic
sporting boat shoes
and argyle sweaters.
Guess I didn’t get the fashion memo.
I learn April
dumped Ralph for good
Deserved to be treated better.
I learn Gavin
stopped leaving messages
even more messages
for George.
They’re just friends now.
Both my friends
strong
standing tall
say they canfind betterdo betterbe better.
Senior year.
One week away!
They’re
excited, jazzed, thrilled, electric!
I’m still
crummy, blah, broken, amiss.
They go into advice mode
April and Gavin: Go see Lady Elba.
Girl, you got to snap out of it.
What about Ted?
Nothing says, I’m over it like a hot
new outfit.
This is our year, our time.
This is your last shot.
Shot at what?
Becoming the senator’s daughter?
Finding love?
Not dying alone?
I try not to be a buzz kill,
pretend the old Sam’s back in action,
buy a few cute shirts, a new pair of jeans,
some argyle socks, even though I don’t feel it.
Then leaving the mall,
we pass by a coffee shop.
The beans remind me of better times.
A sticker in the window says one single word—
LOVE.
Love
One word
with a picture of a goddess.
Maybe it will work if I buy it?
I comply, pretend the goddess is really
the High Priestess.
Me.
Gavin and April look at each other when
I’m paying, eyes judging,
saying nothing.
It will be my power mark.
My strength.My freedom.
My something big.
LOVE.
I am the High Priestess, reminded that
it’s not perfect
LOVE.
But it’s all around, waiting for me to take it
back.
Sam I Am
I am greater than a shoe size.
I am more interesting than a label.
I am deeper than an opinion.
I am more than a politician’s daughter.
I am smarter than a test score.
I am more valuable than diamond earrings.
I am larger than a fashion trend.
I am stronger than a drug.
priority mail
my own masterpiece
executive platinum
finer than bone china
blue ribbon worthy
senior level
VIP
leading lady material
I am all that and a sister-daughter-friend bag of chips …
… and
I am ready to love.
First Day of Senior Year
I make breakfast for Melanie
while Dad tends to Jane,
walking and rubbing
pacing and squinting.
I wonder
Does Melanie see her pain?
At school, my locker’s next to Gavin,
so I get to witness
The Drama of George.
It replaces
The Problem with Ralph.
I wonder
Will Gavin take him back?
I’m back in school,
preparing for college
preparing Melanie’s breakfast
preparing to move on
and X is … ?
It’s just one more thing that separates us.
I wonder
Will I ever heal?
Even though I should focus on my
futurefriendsfamily
All I can focus on is
What is he doing?
Is he still with Jessica?
Does he sing Chesterfield Kings in her ear?
Are they eating brunch at Leo’s?
Is she scrunched up next to him in the booth?
Does he remember eating there with me?
Does he even remember me?
I’m left here
in the hall
trying to shake memories,
haunted.
In Transit
Like my academic angel,
Ted floats by,
grabs my arm and escorts me to
Senior English in Room 107.
He pulls out a box of Milk Duds, informs me that
nothing cures depression better than chocolate.
How’d he know I was down?
He pops a Milk Dud,
chatters on about things not sports-related.
Things I might actually care to know:
what bands are playing this weekend
how he’s learning guitar, even wrote a song
who knew chords were so difficult?
And,
did I hear about the Gauguin show
at the Art Institute next month?
The Yellow Christ.
My favorite.
Together, we walk arm in arm as
friends
students
fellow music lovers
art lovers
chocolate lovers.
But,
somewhere in the hollow of my heart
maybe it still might be
something more.
At Lunch
Gavin:So you and Ted …
Me: … are nothing.
Gavin:I don’t know, Sam, he seems …
Me: … innamorato.
April pulls out a pocket thesaurus.
How far is she going to take this brainy thing?
Gavin:In a whatto?
April:Smitten. In lurve!
Gavin:I believe our little girl’s got a new boy.
He sniffs like it’s touching,
our love story.
Me:Spare me.
I know what they’re trying to do,
help me move on,
but is falling for the guy
you dumped junior year
moving on or moving backwards?
Gavin:I always liked Ted.
April:Least he doesn’t dabble in drugs …
Ralph walks by, smiles,
then passes to sit with his new group
next to the
new cuteperky girl
unaware of The Problem with Ralph.
Gavin:Well, whatever’s going on with Ted …
Me:You mean nothing?
Gavin:Just go with it.
He gets up,
leaves.
And as usual, he
takes the last word.
Week after Week after School
April, Gavin, and me,
we start a new routine.
We’ve crossed out our summer habit
of hanging at that café—haunted.
Instead, we study in the food court through fall
at the mall by April’s house.
New school year, new start.