only a drop

if not for one little problem, this beach would be perfect.

when the tide comes we all have to run towards the fort and climb as high as we can and pray the waves don't take us.

a big wave came for me once. i ran to the palace of many windows. a felt a drop of water. only a drop.

when we were children

my cousin asks me if i still play the violin. we used to play music together. now he's a musician, a professional and i am just a girl who stopped. i shake my head. "not anymore," i say but i say it without shame or guilt because he's smiling at me with fondness. he believes in me. he will teach me what he knows and together we will play again like we did when we were children.

always

the new rooms are better than what i am used to

large with windows that overlook

black wires that cut a sad steady sky

these inherited uninhabited interchangeable rooms

i choose one and lose it so that i am always lost

everything shifts and i can see only up to a foot ahead of me

this labyrinth is in my mind

to foster this fear that is in me like my prayed-for child

even as i try i must find a room

any room that is familiar or one that feels safe

so i can sleep

not lost

i'm made to find my own room in the new house. i trail my hands along the banister as i ascend. my eyes scan rooms i know are not mine. at each landing i call out to mama to make sure i haven't gone too far, too make sure i'm not lost.

release

the nightmare is not that he is making love to another man. that is what fascinates me. the unknown room, flooded in light, white, shifting and nebulous, only sharpens their man-boy limbs. their lovemaking is adamantine. their rhythm, intent.

this other man, the one beside me, pulls me to him, wants to make love. he is a disturbance. i push him away, i hold him off, if only until the other couple finish and i see their faces twist in exquisite release.

not mine

i am told it is mine. the unknown room, the weird shifty walls, the unmade bed.

visitors come looking for me. i confront the empty kitchen, i look for food. i look for a place to seat them because --

i cannot admit that i do not know them. that all this is not mine.

the footprints that scar the polished floor are not mine and neither are these shoes i am putting on.

and when i laugh to mask my fear the laughter isn't mine.

plastic bunny ears

the big fat bully who read my diary where i called her fat will have her revenge by having me run with plastic bunny ears while she chases me, catches me, beats me up.

i try them on but i feel the first twinge of clarity, of not belonging.

my friends arrive. like me, they are in st scho uniform.

"where were you?" i ask. i show them the ears.

"we came from UP," they say.

"that's where i'm from now," i say. i mull over my own words. i'm having trouble understanding what they mean. now, now, now. the uniforms are a mistake. so is this place, the time, these plastic bunny ears.

she touches my back to appease me.