in the passenger’s seat.
How many girls have sat here with him?
Jessica?
Each bump
every pothole
lively swerve
sharp turn
seems my seat might
eject me.
Another bump, another girl?
Suddenly, so insecure
I never used to be
like this with Ted
or with myself.
Is this what love is?
A jerkyjaggedjumpy ride?
Cracks, Pt. III
Out in front of an abandoned warehouse
sheets like makeshift curtains,
wave out cracked windows.
X needs to make one stop.
The intercom button saysBig Brother.
We wait for an answer from Big Brother.
The sidewalk’s
chipped and uneven,
weeds fight through
the broken spaces.
Big Brother buzzes us in.
I follow X up
three flights of stairs
stepping over old
bicycles
beer bottles
beams of wood
broken DVD players
doorknobs
and banged-up cardboard boxes marked
THIS SIDE UP.
At the top is that same guy:
café guypark guystrung-out guy
looking a little less frazzled,
but still creepy, crazy.
Surprised, I step back
tripping over trash,
rotting stench.
The summer heat begins to burrow
under my skin.
X:Come on in. Don’t be a baby.
Big Brother laughs.
It stings.
His words slice like paper cuts.
A baby?
I’m just a baby.
A naïve, innocent high school girl to him?
Me:I’ll wait outside.
Whatever’s going on in there
baby or no baby
I don’t want to see
like I don’t want to know
about the girls with him
before me.
I’m not ready to know,
not steady, so I go
clomp clomp
down the stairs.
X enters Big Brother’s apartment
creep creep
closes the door.
Cracks, Pt. IV
Clip
clop
clomp
no one’s coming after me.
Step
race
hop
I rush to get out of there.
Am I a baby?
His words burn hot
truth sears.
Baby?
I push open the downstairs door,
fresh air hits me
like a muggy pillow
suffocating and cruel.
I plop down on a fractured piece of sidewalk
broken and split
as a tear falls.
Why am I crying?
I’m not standing up for myself.
I’m not taking a stand.
I’m just looking the other way,
walking away, crying.
Baby?
If this were a girl in one of my paintings, I’d title it
The Pouter.
When X returns, I’ve painted a new portrait
The Unaffected Female.
He snaps his fingers,
claps his hands,
energy shooting out his palms.
Says he didn’t mean to say a baby
meant my baby,
whispers in my ear,
his wet lips send chills down my spine.
I melt right there in his arms.
A new title for the painting of me
The Girlfriend.
X:Ready to hear some music?
He loops his arm in mine,
I nod.
He kisses my lips
gently
sweetly
tenderly
as if I were a baby
being laid down on a blanket.
His lips
pillowy
dewy
soft
smell like Ajax
and air freshener.
What I See at the Show
Gavin meets me there.
We hang while X disappears
returnsseems distractedcharged up
says this show
The poorhouse.
A place he mentions a lot lately.
To get over George
Gavin and I play the how ’bout game—
Me:How ’bout … him? He looks cute.
Gavin:Bad fashion.
Me:How ’bout … the one by the door?
Gavin:He doesn’t look a day over fourteen.
Me:It’s an all-ages show?
Gavin:No side-bars. Next!
Me:How ’bout … the guy with the fedora?
Gavin:Not gay.
Me:Straight guys dress like that?
Gavin:No interruptions!
Me:Sorry.
Gavin:How ’bout … we get some drinks?
We secretly sip
Jack & Coke & Jack & Coke & Jack & Coke
while the first band plays.
The music pulses through me
swiftly
swaying
bleeding into me
bold acrylic colors
on a clean canvas.
I’m light-headed
must learn to control my drinking
must learn to pace myself
and missing X.
I run into Party Betty,
a sparkling beauty in Jane’s diamond studs.
I ask if she’s seen X,
she points to a door.
Betty:If you’re into that.
What does that mean?
I jiggle, jangle open the door
caught up in a rug
only opens a crack
but it’s enough
to see X on a couch beside
five other people
white powder
all over the table
spinning room
spiraling noise
expanding darkness
smell of cleaning fluid
mixed with don’t be a baby and
X
his horrified face
signaling that I’m
seeing his secrets
suddenly I’m sick.
I try to act cool—It’s no big deal.
I’ve seen it all before—I’m no baby.
I want to crawl into myself
ball up and hide
but the cleaning smell gets to me
and I vomit
on the rug buckled into a ball
by the door.
What I Learn at the Show
I close the door and
idiot
push my way through the crowd
stupid
gathering in greater numbers
stupid me
as the ticking minutes promise them
what
their big-name band
on Earth
their big night out
am I doing?
their big, happyhappyhappy time t
ogether.
And me,
silly
vomiting in public
baby baby
pushing my way out of the room,
grabbing Gavin
gasping for air
grinding my teeth
out on the sidewalk
head between hands
elbows on knees.
As Gavin rubs my back, I tell him.
I feel sick, wishing it was just
a cold
a virus
I could catch and get over
a guy
I could dump and get over
but I care too much
hurt too much.
Gavin:So your boyfriend’s a druggie.
Me:That’s a little harsh.
Gavin:You’re in love with a guy who does hardcore drugs.
Me:Cut it out. Maybe he can explain.
But I know, inside,
if he’s hiding these kinds of things,
it can’t be good.
Gavin:How ’bout … we get you out of here?
What I Leave at the Show
SorrySorrySorrySorrySorrySorrySorrySorrySorry
SorrySorrySorrySorrySorrySorrySorrySorry
SorrySorrySorrySorrySorrySorrySorrySorrySorry
SorrySorrySorrySorrySorrySorrySorrySorry
flows out of X’s mouth.
Swears he doesn’t use
meth.
That was meth?
Says he was just hanging out, nothing less, nothing more.
X:It’s not something big. If that’s what you thought.
Something big?
Seems pretty big.
But he swears he
was
not
using
meth.
Should I believe him?
I want to believe him.
I want to love him.
I still love him.
Me:
Gavin:Meth?! Such a white-trash drug.
Like there is a hierarchyof users.
A class systemof users.
An income brackeof users.
Looking down on other users.
Gavin takes me home.
He’s—
my knight in shining armor
my valiant prince
my protector.
Everything I thought
X
was.
I Am Not a Baby, I Am
Not a Baby
here I am
here
there you are
there
between us
truth
around us
albatross
cheating me
cheating
you, smoking
gun
blazing hot
lit
by the summer heat
sniffed murky haze of
night snuffed out while
listening to music
rumors foolish.
but who? me
or you?
it’s something big,
white hot
bang
knocking me over with
powder-strong force
liars and thieves
trample
my heart
shoot up
gunned down
in the midst of love
in the middle of lust
in the market of leftover
naiveté
gone.
blame the bandits of youth
robbed.
baby
baby
baby
baby
baby
baby
baby
me.
The Bad News
Coming home drunk
gets me grounded
for two weeks.
Summer without
cell phonepartiesfriends.
I …
should be ashamed
should know better
shouldn’t embarrass the family
should never have been allowed out
with that boy.
X gets
crossed out
of the picture.
Jane:Boys who won’t come around the house are boys
that are no good.
Dad:Last thing we need right now is a family scandal.
Jane:Especially since the election’s only a few months
away.
One true word—
Election.
Disguised as wise words to shape and revise me.
Words that mean nothing to me.
Empty, meaningless, words that
without X,
fall to the floor and lie there like a rug
crumpled up.
See,
I’ve been caught
coming home drunk.
The Good News
Coming home drunk
gives me time to paint
for two weeks.
Summer with
new piecesfresh huesready for RISD.
Does Dad remember he promised to take me to see the campus?
Does Dad remember he promised to talk to a college counselor?
Does Dad remember he promised to help carry my canvas?
One little word—
Election.
He’s caught up in big debates.
Forcing me to participate
from now
until the November election.
I have no say,
see,
I’ve been caught
coming home drunk.
The Reform of Ralph
April caught Ralph using something.
Everyone’s doing it, right?
No big deal?
Her now-red hair
bounces as she shares how she caught
Ralph red-handed.
He had a change of heart.
He decided he liked her and wanted to date her so
he turned things around,
cut that stuff out.
Summer storms
breezy and warm
now April and Ralph are an item.
A drug-free item.
Things I used to share—
little letters of love
kisses coated with sugar
sweet nothings
side by side
walking down
summer sidewalks.
April shares with Ralph—
slushy drinks
sloppy kisses
summer love
heating up
just as mine
cools down.
I shiver.
Now,
oh, how
the tables have turned.
Texts
DAY ONE
X:4give me
DAY TWO
X:need u 2 believe me
DAY FIVE
X:sam? plz …
DAY SIX
Me:y?
X:she lives!
X:y? cuz I’m innocent
X:cuz I miss u
DAY SEVEN
X:cuz I luv u
X:cuz it’s no fun w/o u
DAY NINE
X:cuz u r crazy bout me ;)
X:& …
DAY TEN
Me:& what?
X:& it’s what henri paul wud do
Me:paint me an apology portrait?
X:if that�
�s what it takes
Me:I’m grounded
X:I’ll wait
Me:2 wks
DAY ELEVEN
X:look out ur window …
Summer to Falling
Out there—
hothazyheat
steaming up from the pavement,
the sidewalk.
Out there—
prettypinkhearts
forming a chalk path
to my sidewalk.
Cars honkradios blarelaughter flies
around bouquet after bouquet of flowers
red
up against a tree.
restinginsistingwaiting
X
marks a spot, a path
leading to my heart
red
like the roses.
My heart leaps upon discovery.
Romance still lives
in the air
in my lungs
in my heart
in every petal of every rose
beside the tree.
I pick them up
carry them back to my room
smell their scent for the next
few days.
My rose-apology portrait.
After I serve my sentence,
the first thing I do
is see
X.
Thousands of Years …
… could pass by like fearless nations
at war
at peace
in love
we are back
to life as we knew it
beautiful
floating
our own oasis of
Vespas flying down city streets
black coffee
walks along Division Street
vandalizing VOTE HENDERSON! signs
learning to play bocce ball
at the park where we swing
swoon
seal
our love for each other.
Cheesy
silly
summer fun.
Dating Up
Up since noon
love in tune
high in thrill
strong in will
bold ’n’ young
come undone
deep in play
light in day
without care
each aware
Political debates?
Adventure waits!
Taller tree
vaster sea
more worldly
mon ami
stronger coffee
makes me
a
better me.
Meeting His Mom
We arrive in the western suburbs
identical houses line the streets circa 1940.
Two-story homes with tiny patches of lawn
white awnings, blue mailboxes