Partly Cloudy (2 page)

When a stone bridge fails,
You can rebuild it with your hands.

 

With love, when it falls,
The rocks shoot sparks. Gossips

 

Gather at the river's edge,
Skipping stones across the water,

 

Asking intently, “Who brought it down?”

We missed the half-price
Matinee. But that was okay.
We walked around and did math
In our heads, both of us poor
But geniuses for figures.
Then you helped a man
Push a car barely alive
On the fumes of precious gas.
When the man tried to press
Ten dollars into your palm,
You said, “No, sir, no, we're fine.”

 

We returned to the theater
And looked up at the marquee—
The movie was called
Totally and Forever.
You held my hand
As you would have in the theater,
And under the halo of lights
I explained the plot.

In the hallway, I pass your ex-girlfriend,
Tall as me, brown hair and eyes like me,

 

And have to think,
What's the difference?
I think of her in your arms,

 

And the cute things you said into her ear.
What did you tell her? What secrets?

 

When I turn to spy on her, I see she also turned—
Tall as me, brown hair and eyes like me,

 

And both of us baring our teeth.

Each time I get a boyfriend,
I buy a black book and promise myself
To take notes. He's nice,
He's not nice. He buys me a soda,
He takes it back and drinks it all!
His grilled teeth shine like a lie.
He turns his pockets inside out—
“I'm poor,” he claims,
And
my
ten dollars flies from
my
hand
To his. “We need gas money,” he says,
But why am I always on the sidewalk
Waving good-bye?
Will I ever find the right boy?

 

They say we must cut down
Trees to make paper. If so,
I'm guilty of cutting down a forest—
Little black books in my drawer,
And, like me, barely used.

Who will understand us?
Not your parents or mine,
As I'm Japanese
And you're Mexican,
Both of us third generation.
What do we know—
Gracias, por favor,
Arigato, sayonara.
Who will understand us?
Holding hands,
I notice the color of
Our skin becoming one
In time.

You said I smelled like a flower
And I gripped your arm.

 

“Okay, lover boy, what kind of flower?”
That stopped you. Your eyes

 

Searched around, baffled.
Nothing behind them but the NBA teams?

 

You answered, “A red flower.”
And brat me said, “Oh, you mean a jasmine.”

 

You nodded your bobble head.
“Yeah, that one. You smell hecka pretty.”

 

That's okay. I knew you didn't know
The names of flowers. A jasmine is white,

 

And your face would be red
If I told you my father, a gardener,

 

Would make you shovel seven years
For my sweet-smelling hand, if you should ask.

We have lost something.
In September your hand squeezed mine
And the next month we just walk next
To each other, shoulders touching,
You smiling but not really.
It's not the same. The sun rises, the sun falls.
Shadows the color of diesel exhaust
Roll across the lawn,
And the trees are unlatching their leaves.
It's not the same as when we first met.
It's November. After football practice,
You show me the bruises on your arms.
I wish I could show you the one spreading
Around my heart.
In December the snow will erase
Our footsteps. You'll be gone.
My chilled breath will hang in the air
And my lonely shadow will walk behind me.

I haven't been kissed,
But I'm waiting.

 

I'm a little scared. Do I hold my breath,
Close my eyes, and peek when he

 

Leans in to me? Do I lick my lips,
And offer my neck for the first one?

 

My fingernails are chewed from worry.
My cheeks are red as sin. Nothing has happened,

 

Nothing yet. But when it does, I'll call
My best friend and tell what took only seconds

 

For hours and hours.

I swear the school clock is slow,
And our teacher is repeating himself every three minutes.
Poor Mr. Mathews has more hair on his ears
Than on his shiny head. He's a gentle
Scholar with chalk dust on his eyelashes
And lunch on the front of his shirt.
Can't the clock hurry up and do a quick lap?
Can't we have a fire drill?
I'm thinking of you, my secret pretty boy.
When the bell rings, I'm going to toss myself
Into the hallway. If you feel a tug
On your backpack, think of me,
A fish swimming upstream
In the river of bodies.

You folded a piece of paper
Into a boat and set it on the pond.

 

We stepped back, hand in hand,
And watched your creation drift.

 

Then
they
arrived, two ducks
That began to peck at your little ship.

 

I covered my mouth with my hand,
Stomped my foot, and scolded, “Go away!”

 

The duck with cruel eyes lifted
Your paper boat into its bill—

 

Three pecks made it sink, just another
Piece of litter at the pond's edge.

 

We were young, not yet fourteen.
What chance could our love have

 

In a world so rough?

When you moved away,
You said you would write and call.

 

I checked my e-mail and my cell phone
A hundred times a day.

 

You were a fake. I was the one who helped
You in math. You didn't learn anything!

 

Like you are
one,
I am
two,
we're a
pair!
You were a fake, an unsolved math problem,

 

Even when you put on a clip-on bow tie
And teased your hair to look like Einstein.

 

You were not smart enough to know
What you would lose.

I'm unnoticed, some call me clumsy.
I wear a Band-Aid on my finger

 

Like a wedding band. Band-Aids
On my knees, near my ankles,

 

On my heart. I hurt a lot,
From the cruelty of boys.

 

I brush against them in the hallway.
In the cafeteria, they push in front

 

Of me and step on my shoes.
Still, I scribble hearts on my binder.

 

This is who I am: a girl taped
From head to toe. Pull off the Band-Aids,

 

I'll be the Invisible Girl,
Everyone passing through me,

 

No one touching.

How long is a bus ride
Somewhere pretty,
With flowers in window boxes,
Green lawns and wind chimes?
Here, what do we know
But gangsta rap
Behind the smoked windows
Of long squeaky cars,
And the yellow grill on the face
Of a thug leaning from
The porch, calling, “Hey, baby.”
I'll walk on by to the store
And when I return find his shadows
Crumpled on a dead lawn.

 

Love, how long is a bus ride
Somewhere pretty,
To some park where the gophers
Come up from their holes,
Not go down to take cover.

Call me this afternoon,
Call and say, “Hey.”
I'll bare my teeth like a horse,
Say, “Hay's for horses,”
And whinny. It's something
We do. We're in love
And we play along
Like horses—carrots
And apples, a piece of sugar,
And to make you beautiful,
A comb for your mane!
Like a horse in a stall,
I'm waiting. Please call,
Love, and if you like,
You can name me Misty
Or Moonglow, any horsey name.
But first punch in my number,
You cowpoke! Be yourself,
And say, “Hey.”

For a while I liked
Boys with curly hair,
And then straight hair,
Short Afros, or daring boys
With green spiky hair.

 

Now at the beginning
Of football season, I like
Them with cropped heads,
Like Michael, my hero next door!
Coach made him shave
His head, and made him
Do enough push-ups
That an empire of muscles
Dwells on his chest!
On my leaf-strewn lawn,
He plays catch with me.
But I drop them all, the long
And short spirals,
Even easy shovel passes.
To me, he's so cute.
If he were my boyfriend,
I wouldn't let him slip
From my hands.

I first heard about Cupid
When I was nine, how this chubby
Little guy would pull back his arrow
And plug someone with love.
You could be at the supermarket
Bending down to pick up a case
Of Gatorade when Cupid,
A sneak by the rack
Of candy bars, would shoot
An arrow into your thigh—
Suddenly, in love,
Your taste was for a boy,
Or a girl—forget the Gatorade!

 

I'm thirteen, thirsty for the love
Of a boy at school,
But where is Cupid now?
Why is he a lazy
Couch potato? Is he cramming
A handful of chips
Into his mouth, a grubby
Little guy with food
Between his teeth?
I'm on the couch myself,
Sleepy from watching
A movie that's no good.
I rest my eyes. I close them
And see you, my would-be guy.
If only Cupid would get off the couch.

When you said you liked dogs
I introduced you to Roger, an Australian mix,
And the three of us—a love
Triangle—went to Dog Park.
Pooches exercise there.
They frolic, roll, slobber on balls, catch Frisbees.
Sometimes they bare their teeth and fight.
But not Roger, my pacifist dog.
No, he's the kind who'll shake paws
And politely wipe his nose
On the kerchief around his neck.
Love, I like how your hair is shaggy,
That your sweater, when wet, smells of dog.
And that you itch when I'm around.
I love you for this. Remember one day
At Dog Park, you and Roger
Were among other dogs,
All jumping around, fleas jumping from one
Pooch to another? I slapped my thighs
And called, “Come here, boy.”
You looked up, and with the other dogs,
Came running!

I can't get enough of you.
In biology I secretly flip open my cell
And look at you, digitally caught.
You're so cute, hair slanting over your left eye,
And a chain on your neck—
You are my little puppy.
If I attach a leash
And lead you around the city,
Would you snag a Frisbee with your teeth?
Would you eat from my hand?
My grandma says, “It's puppy love,”
An old phrase from her time.
I might agree.
You're my puppy, a nice puppy.
Your paws know their place,
Not like the dogs my girlfriends see,
Paws everywhere, and dirty, too!

The tears inside a pear are sweet,
And I like to think

 

Of us as pears,
Sweet and a little round.

 

The world is cruel.
When it bites us,

 

We cry sweet little tears.

I've forgotten everything you said to me,
Except one word: Good-bye.
It rings in my ears. You walked away,
Your left shoulder higher than the right,
And I wanted to shout, “Stand up straight!”
Even as you were leaving.
Now I cry in my bedroom.
My shoulders heave up and down.
I can't help the way I am,
Telling everyone what to do.
Even my goldfish, his ugly mouth
Pouting, makes me angry.
“Stop it!” I scold, and the goldfish turns away,
Swishing his tail at me.
Why should I care?
At least my shoulders are straight,
Not like yours,
As I cry alone.

I wrote in my diary
All about you—first kiss,
Second kiss, a hug at the mall
With shoppers swinging
Their bags, envious
Of our young love?
Each time I wrote
I had to unlock the diary
With a little key. I wrote
In a rainbow of
Colors—pink of flowers,
Baby blue of sky, black
Of tornadoes, and gold
Of what we were worth.
Then the colors changed
When I lost you.
Now I'm the color of
A bruise,
And you're faded yellow,
The color of lies.