We were woollen
as the coach pulled up
alongside the C of E school

our swimming provided free
and municipal
so the stung eyes and barked, sodden ideas
were mitigated

at least if we fell
into the rank brown swells nearby
our inevitable drowning
could be offset:

the boy could swim
and was a king at buying the 5p
Highland Toffee from the machine

~
Holding court at the Zanzibar,
they looked on good nights
like Egyptian Queens, like Ancient Babylonians.

On not so good nights,
they resembled Brassaï's Moma Bijou -
"fugitives from Baudelaire's bad dreams",
and even then they looked magnificent.

Identity wasn't something you nailed
yourself into in late adolescence.
It was a trick of the light,
and if you were to avoid
burning yourself out,
then you simply let the flames
lick over you
and turned the ashes into kohl.
~

From
the veil of
trees, I can
peer into
your window,
and count
the family,
imagine them
gone to bed,
dreaming of blue,
"underwater, unaware."

Those summer
evaporations tickle
my skin,
bring on such
an observational
itch:
how you,
freshly out
of the pool,
bloomed
brightly on
Betamax.

camaraderie - much too
grand a word, of course
for the heady unity we'd caught
against our parents
against our school
nonchalantly - against them all
raging round our haughty town
dressing up by dressing down
our Capulets and Montagues
were Trendies versus Casuals
but mostly we were tiny shells
trapped in our semirural hell
united we could stand it best
while hatching in an empty nest

Fresh washed P.E. clothes
The scent of fruity erasers
Blue eyeliner learning it’s place
A clear cool purse
Jelly shoes

My pink overalls are so cool
My teddy bear sweatshirt keeps me trendy and warm
My french braid hides my long hair
Because short hair rules

Oh the horror...
I forgot my homework!
Wearing grandmas ring
Silently made fun of by the popular
I miss elementary playground

Silent I sit speaking to no one
Maybe my one friend
Headaches daily
I don’t want to come here
Give me a note

P.E. clothes stink
Mom said no more blue eyeliner
Clear purse and erasers...stolen
And guess what?

You get to do this all over again

Only bigger

The small hands of a child
Are innocent
Reaching for fake animals
Or candy bars.
But his mother
Says he shouldn’t have been here
His father
Never kisses him.
He has nothing to reach for.
A child can be born without innocence.
Small hands can do more
Than reach for fake animals
Or candy bars.
A tiny killer, he is.

i.

A hand reaches
from the myst
and bids me forth
to the darkness.
He tells me not to fear
"You are safe," he murmurs.
The pit of my liver
reminds me otherwise.
Candles,
statues,
and books
fill this moldy chamber.
My whisper
searches for him,
but I recall
only his shadow.

ii.

She lay frozen
in limbo
when I first saw her.
I tended
to her wounds
and redefined her muscles,
for she had none.
She gazed at my broken flesh
with eyes
that pierced my stomach.
At that moment, I knew
her heart was full of tears
and not to fear her touch.
She is both Aphrodite
and Artemis
and I am nothing
if not her slave.