I believe in goosebumps,
the shiver

Your hand passed lightly
over my bare skin
lets me say so much more
than words ever could.

He was a drunk,
and he left you
before you were grown

When we heard your name
we laughed;
we tried to figure it out,
this five letter puzzle
for the woman told us to call you Katie
spelled
K-E-I-R-I

Alone I,
knowing a touch of Spanish
spelled it out,
sounding out the letters
in a foreign tongue,
spitting round pebbles

When I asked you
you smiled,
lifting,
relived

Your father was confused
that night you were born,
in the loud hospital
immaculately clean
and white

Your nurse's name was Katie
and your father did not know
so he did the best he could
and wrote
in his large brown hand,
Keiri

You have his picture in a locket
and you look away as you tell me,
hiding that betraying blue

I know that feeling,
a stiffened back,
burning;
the hatred of the runaway man,
the traitor

And that other thing,
obstinate,
the rock in your throat;
the love of a father
who gave you
your name.

Every morning I check myself,
and every night too,
and sometimes after I ***,
hiding in the shower stalls
under sterile florescent lights

I can see the fat,
how it hangs down my body and
melts off my chest,
a misshapen bag of
curdled yogurt,
yellow

If I pull my stomach in,
*******
straining
the lumpy muscle peeps through,
deformed and grotesque

And yet,
I cannot help but notice
how my ribs show through my chest,
stubbornly squeezing through the fat and
forcing the flesh to my hips,
refusing to comply.

So nice to meet you
and your kind spirit

I listened,
enraptured,
eyes wide and
bones melting,
to you

I clung to your voice
soft as it was,
lilting and lyrical,
whispering S's and
beautiful B's

I wanted to try the words
taste them for myself,
savor them,
their sweetness

And when I found you again
surrounded by professors
chins wobbling with their praise
and their stiff arms;
you so tall
had run out of books

So Julie
(whom I owe my eternal gratitude
and $13.25)
handed me hers,
smiling,
understanding

And you,
tall woman,
soft wood,
you wrote me a line

so nice to meet you
and your kind spirit
x*

And I ran to class,
feet pounding the pavement,
so fast I could fly,
for you gave me
your wings.

Nineteen years it's been

And after nineteen years of learning -
Nineteen years of
see-through models,
****** magazines,
and the jutting bones of
anorexics -
  
After nineteen years of whispered hate,
I believe I have forgotten, dear Mother
what beauty is.

We were your friends

We followed you,
listening,
wiping your tears
when the petty cruelties of teachers
were too much for you to bear

We knew of your loves,
what loves a middle-schooler can have,
of course,
and we relished your stories,
your knowledge

But you were afraid
afraid of our
looks,
words,
personalities,
and for your reputation

You cast us aside,
the used tissue
you showed me once
after blowing your nose in it
that fourth grade day

I had to hold my sister
as she cried

And I hate you

If I were to tell you my secrets
would you listen?

Or would you turn,
clean your nails
run your fingers through your hair
fidget
until I release you
from the strangeness
of another’s pain?