SILENT WITNESS
she imagines me giggly, skinnier
than those who have come since;
color of a maple damp with fresh
rain;
patch of fuzzy hair in the center
of a peanut shaped head,
juicy teething smile to point and
click
into memories never made.
eyes high-noon-on-the-bay shiny
linger on the wilting flower on the
mantle,
beside it a house key reneged
for my birthright
or something else never to be named.
supple, milk-smooth
the indian in her
folks cluck
ashen by chance,
love, frustration, more than a
little
plain crazy.
traces the purplish apology
on her chest
onto a piece of dough;
fries it in hot oil then without
cooling,
lays it against her belly;
removes it to watch black
tissue paper balloon over the part
of me
that will spill, infection healing;
anticipates what will remain.
BRAWLEY HALL RETROSPECTIVE
august.
sunday-evening still,
the campus recuperates.
it’s brick, old she thinks.
he points down the street:
so when you gon’ come visit me?
she giggles, balances on the curb
with the arches of her feet.
they play with this;
kittens clawing a ball of string,
in cautious pursuit.
she tests herself; tries him by
leaning forward
gliding back on her heels.
his tone is illegible; a cursive
light and loose over
her thighs extending from the frayed
edges of her shorts.
he steps close enough to pinch the
hairs on her arm
between his fingernails, then
retreats
off the curb to the traffic-less
street.
in november,
no skin. his hands find her scalp
beneath her braids
she wrestles with gravity for
control of her eyelids
curfew confirms the bout.
head wrapped in a scarf,
moons and stars draping her body,
noxzema covers her face, and her
roommate taunts.
she blushes a response, revises
the scene on the corner:
giggles replaced with certainty.
stealing his breath like asthma, she
will attack,
no retreat to the curb.
by february, they imitate old hands
at this sport,
pee wees padded, refusing to keep
score.
the number thirteen mcdaniel still
runs his way
come over he says as if
convinced she will.
needles tingle at the nape of her
neck;
her stomach swallows itself,
shrinks.
frontal attack, no retreat to the
curb.
