March 2013

MIDDLE SCHOOL

Your demands for a cell phone louder, every day.

We visit high schools, girls parade in a yard of fabric

that doesn’t cover their nubility.

Boys look at them and you without blinking, as if it’s their

entitlement. The trouble with biology is that it starts early

and never stops.

 

Like that fish in the ocean’s abyss that bites the larger female’s

belly from underneath, sometimes for a week, until he’s

permanently attached. There he stays, the rest of his life,

feeding from her, and in return she gets his sperm for new life.

He looks like a rudder, a small appendage underneath.

 

This middle time, between your total innocence and what’s

to come, these fawning boys, their stories biting, sucking,

your skin, precious in its unknowing, ripe red plum, all colors

of yellow-red and orange, as if the sun shone just on you.

Your hair brown and blond, cascades to your waist, shining

on this autumn day, as if this could be enough.