because he is the one
who knows about these things
painting the town
footloose and fancy free
livin’ the life.
He pulls out a condom
kissing me
rubbing against me
unzipping my pants
and what we do next
is one of the many things
I’ve been waiting to learn.
I follow his lead and
together we
crash
back and forth
bodies bumping slowly.
His kisses consume me, making me hot
warmed from the inside out.
A flame
sparking
igniting
growing
blazing
thundering
shattering
all that’s within me.
I feel closer to him than any other human.
His breath,
hot like lava
along my cheek.
X:God, I love you.
And then I melt just as he
shivers into me.
When we put our clothes back on and pop out of
our cubbyhole
the Vespa’s being towed.
X watches it go.
That’s when I learn
the vehicle
wasn’t borrowed.
It was registered as
stolen.
Undone
light
f.light
flit
flo.at
I open my wounds
and fin.d
they’re healing
sealing my love
to h.is
feeling his body
on mine
reveal.ing the us
in.side
the more I un.do
my life
t.he more it reveals
to me
undo
un.done
under
hi.m
Arrivals …
Summer begins like this—
floating under bridges
kissing in coffee shops
napping in X’s arms
eating grilled cheese at Leo’s Lunchroom
attending packed parties in abandoned lofts
arriving in the latest set of wheels
Where does he get them?
meeting his friends, acquaintances, and strangers.
Everyone knows X
loves X
high-fives and peace signs X.
He’s a celebrity in his circle
and I’m his girl.
I’ve arrived.
Although I’m way behind
on my painting deadline for RISD,
I’m way ahead on my life.
Missy
graduates from being a stray
that Jane and Dad will “think about keeping,”
to our cat, living in the house full time.
Melanie
mommies her, dresses Missy like a doll,
teaches her how to shake hands.
Me:The cat’s not a dog.
Melanie:Shake, Missy.
Missy puts her paw in my hand.
We shake.
And that’s how summer arrives.
… and Departures
Finals come and go
school lets out
no more passing Ted in the hall
pretending not to know each other
won’t have to see him with
some dumb sophomore.
Good riddance.
George departs for L.A.
to spend the summer with his father.
His newly divorced parents live on
separate sides of the country
leaving Gavin also separated
and on the sad side.
Gavin:How will I live without him?
Me:It’s just a few months.
Gavin:Might as well be forever.
Me:True. I wouldn’t want to leave sunny Los Angeles.
Gavin:YOU’RE NOT MAKING ME HAPPY!
Me:Sorry.
Gavin’s take is something straight out of Casablanca:
Georgewalks toward plane.
Gavinin summer’s new J. Crew seersucker jacket,
begs George.
But what about me? What about us?
Opens man-purse, grabs tissue.
Tries not to cry.
Georgeasks Gavin to be reasonable.
We’ll always have senior year.
Kisses him goodbye.
Gavinpleads with George not to abandon him.
You get on that plane, leave me, and we’re through!
Tries not to cry.
Cries.
My take is a little more straightforward:
Gavin gets upset at being alone all summer.
George tells him not to be needy.
Gavin’s a needy guy.
A tad dramatic.
George says as much,
Gavin cries.
Gavin swears that
he’s inconsolable
George has ruined his life
he’ll spend his summer throwing darts at a map
Cali will be the bull’s-eye.
I feel bad for my Gavin
my pal
my heartbroken bud.
Here’s looking at you, kid.
Just when one season begins
another one ends.
The Rally
Lounging at Hex,
I almost forget my father’s big rally
until Miguel calls to remind me.
Don’t be late.
I run home
just in time to hear
Queen Vanilla on the phone.
Can’t take it anymore …
It’s just not right …
Probably talking to Dad.
Probably talking about me.
I ignore her as I race up to my room.
Melanie follows, cheering
as I throw off my clothes
dive into a dress
tear a comb through my hair
pile my locks
on top of my head.
I’m ready infive
four
three
two
one
And, Action!
In a flash
I’m in a hotel ballroom
watching my father shake hands.
Smiles frozen on our faces
posed like a picture.
VOTE HENDERSON!
Signs bob up and down in the crowd
Miguel hands Dad his speech
the energy in the room elevates
my heart quickens.
My dad is really loved.
It makes me look at him differently, as
a man
a father
a hard-worker
maybe he loves me in his own way.
He moves in and out of the crowd
nodding
smiling
shaking hands.
That’s my Dad!
As he approaches me, I smile,
spontaneous
candid
genuine
Dad:Your dress is a wrinkled mess.
I look down at my dress.
Dad:Why didn’t you let Jane pick something out?
&
nbsp; Miguel:A politician for the people, not payoffs!
Miguel works up the crowd
helps his own career.
Dad turns around and waves
breaking my family bliss
my happiness.
I stand stunned while Chicagoans chant this cheer.
What he stands for.
For the people, not payoffs!
For the people, not payoffs!
Then there’s me, the people
the wrinkled
disheveled
daughter.
We Hendersons have a reputation to uphold!
Down with wrinkles!
I can be the
person
daughter
citizen
Henderson
he thinks I’m supposed to be.
Even in a messy dress!
Only I know full well
I’m not.
I’m nothing like what he wants me to be.
His daughter.
His let down.
Choosing
painting over politics
partying over parents.
And if he had a clue about
what I do with X,
he certainly wouldn’t approve of that
person
daughter
citizen
Henderson.
Henderson Family Wrinkles
How can I be
wrinkle-free
when I’m pressed with—
You should know better, try harder.
Inside my skin, my label reads—
40% honorable daughter
30% delicate girlfriend
15% resilient friend
10% supportive sister
and 5% I cannot iron out
mom
I’m washed by the political machine
hung out to dry
colors running, bleeding into
the warm, salty, tear-stained water
leftover from the gentle cycle
worn out from our family fabric
I cannot sort it all—the dirty laundry
I cannot fold it up—my father’s need
steam-cleaned genes
bunching at the seams
eating into my dress,
politically pressed
gathered at the hem of a
disappointed father
distant step-mother
clingy sister
cyclingspinningwashing over me
like a love-starved stain
my dry-clean-only life
blazerspants
underwear and shirts
foldedflat
delicate and pressed
fatherJane
Melanie and me.
Chemo and Balloons
Dad speaks to the crowd
we sit
in silent support.
His nuclear family:
Melanie
motionless
in ruffles and curls
sucking her thumb.
Jane
properly pressed dress
pearls perfectly placed
around her neck.
Reminds me of her diamond earrings I gave away
to Party Betty.
One of the little ways I secretly take from Jane
and give back to Mom.
Dad goes
on
and on
about the wonderful things
he will do if elected Illinois State Senator.
Why does he give so much to others?
What about me?
It seems he’s
less
and less
the father I knew with Mom,
more
and more
someone else entirely.
Am I someone else entirely, too?
I’m not like him—
obsessed with appearances
hoping others will
accept me
support me
vote for me
elect me.
Suddenly,
I want to rip off my dress
run back to X and press his body
hot against mine
feel his weight
over me
inside me
carrying me
off to another
place
time
planet.
The crowd erupts in applause.
Miguel grins, proud supporter.
Balloons fall from the ceiling as
we stand up,
banners fly.
Who am I?
How come my family had to turn out like this?
Why didn’t my mother live?
Why’d she get ovarian cancer?
Chemo?
I paint the image in my head.
It’s time to get back to my canvas.
The Scene
Headphones on
hands covered in paint
head wrapped around canvas,
I paint.
Melanie pets Missy
purr purr purr
as I streak and stroke,
mash plastic-cup red and coffee-brown
forming a
fast-pacedaction-packedmessy image
of a guy standing in the middle
of a crowd of color.
It streams from the top of the canvas
raining down on his shoulders.
Sharper, more saturated hues than I’ve ever used.
Melanie says it looks scary,
yanks on my shirtsleeve
making sure I hear her.
I should continue to ignore her,
keep painting this party scene,
but I listen.
We’re not at war—the two of us.
Me:He’s nice. Someone sweet.
Melanie:No, he’s scary.
I look at the harsh hues
strong strokes
but he’s as cute as can be
isn’t he?
Melanie:He scares me. I don’t want to see.
She covers her eyes.
Melanie:Is he gone?
She uncovers her eyes, believing
everything bad can vanish
in the blink of an eye.
Weights
Melanie wants to paint stones
our stones
more stones.
She has memories,
her imaginary friend, Valerie—
brushing Valerie’s hair
babysitting Angie Hippo
swinging together in the park.
She wants to paint them in stone,
sock them away
in her underwear drawer.
Jane’s unaware
her daughter,
perfectroundyoung
hides painted rocks
next to her panties.
But we can’t go out now
dinnertime nears.
Instead, we sneak
into Dad’s own private room
filled to the roof
paperspostersbooks
foldersa globepaperweights
his collection of paperweights,
presents from political people
seem an odd way to say thank you.
Good job, now here’s a heavy object.
We pickpocket the
flat ones
white ones
round ones
smooth ones
big ones
tiny ones
lopsided ones.
More stones
now, our stones.
We Paint Paperweights
One for Missy,
blue like a sky of potential.
One for X,
red like lust.
One for Mom,
pink like a ballet slipper.
Melanie accidentally paints over Mom’s weight.
It turns gray.
The color of no color.
Me:It’s ruined.
Melanie:I like gray. Like a day when the sun naps.
She kisses my cheek, then goes to work
on a bulky, round paperweight
content
determined
a part of Jane and also a part of me.
When Jane yells that dinner’s ready
Melanie morphs into RoboCop
and races downstairs to munch on
baked chicken
boiled potatoes
bland
boring
bourgeois
but then X calls.
Cracks, Pt. I
I throw on a thin skirt, socks,
and my Chucks.
Sandals seem so girly.
Dad:Don’t stay out late.
Jane:We’re handing out flyers tomorrow.
Me:
I’m sticky-hot,
full of baked chicken
and ready to escape this house, this heat.
To ease Dad’s tensions
he hasn’t met this young gentleman
X agrees to knock on the door
official date!
But X calls two seconds before I hear
BEEP BEEP
Try as I might,
X won’t budge.
Dad sips bourbon in his study,
engrossed in political stuff.
Does he notice the missing paperweights?
Does he remember he planned on playing
the role of concerned father?
I slip out the front door,
hop in the recently repaired ’88 Rocket.
X:Afraid if I shut her off, she might not start back up.
Me:
X:Been in the poorhouse lately.
Me:
X:Can’t afford another tow.
Me:You’re going to have to meet him eventually.
X:Give me some time. I’m not too good with fathers.
He gives me that cute boy look.
I concede, but only because I’m not too good
with mothers.
Cracks, Pt. II
We roll down the street
bouncing along
split-open car seats
slightly ripped vinyl
coils and springs
years and years of people