Partly Cloudy (3 page)

We're thirteen, almost fourteen,
And so much in love

 

We want the years to pass—
Clouds roll at super speed, rains fall,

 

Flowers unfold and die at the snap
Of our fingers. I want to stuff sand

 

Through a fat hourglass,
And rip the pages from the calendar.

 

Let me blow candles from my cake.
Let my puppy stretch to full size.

 

When we turn eighteen,
Time will become a canoe on a still lake.

 

We'll be in that canoe, you with your
Guitar—one string busted. But who cares?

 

Let it be the same song,
Let the springtime flowers wave in the wind

 

But never let their petals fall.

When I pull clean clothes
From the dryer—static
And sparks—I'm reminded
Of you at football practice,
Mud in your cleats,
Grass streaks, maybe blood.
I imagine your face flushed,
Grimacing as you throw
Your helmet into a tackle.
The result? Yellow
And red sparks,
Little devil horns of hurt.

 

Love, don't hurt yourself.
Come to me
When you're done,
And I'll put your jersey
Through the hot cycle. Rest
On the couch. Bring your face
To my face—sparks on
Our lips—and we'll clunk heads,
Gently, my love, gently.

My parents are gone, the television is off,
And I can flip open my phone
And kiss your image.
In my pajamas I dance around the living room.
I like being alone on Saturday,
I like having nothing to do. From the front window
I see it's partly cloudy. It may rain,
Or not rain. I may call you or not call,
My sleepy lover boy.
I'll pet my cat, ring the bell under its neck.
I'll dance around the living room some more,
Then into the kitchen (I'll nibble at toast),
And into the bathroom (I'll shower and sing).
It's Saturday, partly cloudy,
And I'm alone. You're a bear in bed,
And I'm a bird dancing in the living room
Singing off-key but singing anyway.
I can flip open my cell and look at you.
I'm home alone, so much in love.
I'm home alone, and liking it.

I walk to my bedroom mirror
And find you there, a reflection,
Some assembled light. I run my hands
Through my hair, and smile,
Then stop smiling. You're miles away,
On vacation at a lake that eats at the shore.
But let me believe, let me believe,
This afternoon hour
You're pulling the hair behind your ear
And stepping knee-deep in the lake,
And your baby brother, naked as Cupid,
Is shoving mud into a pail.
I see you skip a stone over the water,
See you march into the lake, chills on your arms.
You call me cute, but how long will you be mine?
My breath fogs the glass.
When I wipe it, you're gone.

The button hangs, as if it's done something wrong,
And what have we done wrong
But hold hands in the parking lot?
When your mother honked
We jumped,
And our hands jumped like fish.
You lifted your backpack, the weight of history
And algebra, and hurried to her,
The threads of your pants frayed, dragging little pieces
Of string. All the way home,
My head hung down,
Like the button on a thread.

When Mom said, “Come with me,”
I sighed and thought,
Not again.
On Sunday afternoons
Mom likes to see how others live,
Their furniture and kitchens,
And, I, a good son, get into the car.

 

I'm glad I did—
A girl with her mother
Walked down the steps
As we climbed up.
We passed,
And I could see her
See me. There were roses
In the flower bed,
Stocks and freesia.
But she was a different kind of flower,
With pink buds beneath her blouse.

No chicken or chops,
No burgers or chow mein with pork,

 

No milk shakes thick as wet cement,
No buttered bread or my favorite beef jerky.

 

“I'm hardly hungry at all,” I say,
And smooth the blanket where we lay in nature,

 

Ants with their antennae up and feeling
For handouts. I've lost four pounds

 

In two weeks, and by the end of the month,
I'm going to be like that red ant—

 

Waist so thin, I'm a vegan begging
For sprouts and, oh please, a single blade of grass.

The wind blows west,
Hauling clouds in the spring weather.

 

I lie on a recliner in the yard
And wait for your face to take shape

 

Among those clouds. There, now I see you:
Nose and forehead,

 

The chin I once touched
And made myself shiver.

 

Love is like weather, cold or hot,
Nothing between. I watch

 

The clouds, the shadows like
A warning. I touch my face.

 

Is it rain from you, or a tear
From inside me?

If only we hadn't moved away,
I would still know you,
Girl in the third row,
Your blouse buttoned all the way up.
I liked you. Didn't you know?
Because of you I wore a shirt with buttons,
Polished my shoes, and combed my hair,
Even went to church because I heard you did.
I almost cried
On that field trip to the aquarium
When I saw two penguins
With their little wings touching.
They had each other
And now I have no one, just arms at my sides,
Now and then flapping,
Now what, now what?

When I promised to take you
To the fall dance,
You rose on tiptoes
To kiss me on the chin.
You cooed, “We'll waltz.”
I smiled, swallowed,
And kicked through leaves,
Worried. What was
A waltz? I learned when
My mom swept me
Through the living room,
Her hand in my hand,
My other on her waist.
When the phone rang,
She handed me a
Broom, and said, “Practice.”

 

So I held the thinnest girl ever,
My flat-chested partner,
And swished and swayed,
Dipped and bowed.
On the night of
The fall dance, Mom used
That broom to sweep me
From the house.

I wish I could write you the saddest country song
About loneliness, horses, a pretty girl

 

Broken up by failed love. But what would I do with it?
I can't sing, or play guitar.

 

I love you so much. A melody runs through
My mind, but I'm not sure if it's mine.

 

Country music makes you sad.
I'm going to put on my granddad's cowboy hat,

 

And lick a pencil and write a song on an envelope.
But first I'm going to eat a peach

 

And think of you as a peach, something really sweet.
I'm going to get my dog to howl as I write,

 

There was this pretty girl, hanging tears on a line...

They say you have a tattoo of a butterfly
On your thigh, but how will I know?
That you can uncurl cigarette smoke at will,
That you can cuss in six languages,
That your last boyfriend is using a whole box
Of Kleenex to wipe away his river of tears.
These are rumors, just rumors.
But I can see. You're dressed in beautiful trouble,
The skirt that swings and the low-cut blouse,
And I may as well mention the red smile,
The ring on your loveliest toe,
And the glance in a compact mirror,
Seeing me watch you.
When you raise your hand in class,
Your bracelets ring. You seldom get the answer
Right, but who cares!
My dad, a deacon in the church, warns,
“Watch out for girls who cause trouble.”
Indeed, I watch every day as you swing
Down the hallways, the little roll of muscle
In your calf, and somewhere up higher,
The rumor of a butterfly.

What was it, three weeks ago?
I went to your house
And there, in the living room,
A robot vacuum cleaner
Whirled away, searching for dirt.
The noisy gadget was working around
The fireplace, choking on cinders,
Ashes, and burnt matchsticks.
Then it turned to me
And started sucking at my shoelaces.
Was it pulling away my dirt?
I had to grin. Only then
I sat you on the couch
And told you, “Yeah, I
had
a girlfriend
But we're over.” But I was busted.
The robot vacuum cleaner,
Sensing a filthy lie—I hadn't
Yet
really
broken up with my girlfriend—
Chased me from your super-clean house.

In front of campus we meet
And you whisper, “Dad doesn't like you.”

 

I push my fingers underneath the bark,
Peel it like a scab. Does the tree hurt?

 

Does the sunlight press its warmth into the skin?
Does an ant visit this pain?

 

I push my fingernails into my skin,
And the bite hurts. What sun will heal me?

For you, beauty is natural,
Even as you push away from the cafeteria table
And carry your plate to the conveyor belt.
I hurry behind you, wobbly as the chair
You pushed away, and look at your plate.
I see that you left a few peas,
Those plump little guys jumping on the plate,
Almost doing a samba. I watch the plate
Disappear behind a curtain and think,
Lucky fork touched your lips.

I'm 6'l", weigh 180, mostly muscle,
And hero of a 43–42 overtime game last week.

 

Did you see it? I scored the last basket
And was thrown into the air—and caught!

 

I rode to the locker room on the roar
Of victory. I'm strong, you see.

 

But if you were to bump into me in the cafeteria,
You, who are 5'3", slight as a swan,

 

My legs would buckle.
My friends would have to carry me away.

 

It's exhausting thinking of you,
And in this game of love, I don't think I can score.

A large golden koi surfaced,
Wise as an old man with a Fu Manchu beard.

 

I thought,
He's going to tell me something,
Something about us.

 

He lowered his head,
And a ripple spread on the greenish water.

 

I stared at the water reflecting the rolling clouds.
The day will pass, a week,

 

A month ... I told myself that if I stir
The surface with the tip of my shoe

 

The ancient and wise koi will surface,
Even larger. When he opens his mouth,

 

He'll speak our names.

First Dad hitched
Up his pants, unbuckled

 

His belt because dinner
Was spaghetti, and lowered

 

Himself into his recliner.
He ran his hand over

 

His face, then looked at
His fingernails—spaghetti sauce.

 

“Let me tell you about girls,”
Dad began, and then said,

 

“Well, they're usually shorter
Than us guys.” I was thinking

 

Of Sarah from biology,
How she came up

 

To my shoulder,
And the scalpel in her hand—

 

The poor frog didn't blink
When she ran a slice

 

Up its belly.
He then said, “They cry

 

Sometimes, and they like shoes.”
Where was Dad going?

 

“Girls are smarter,” he added,
“But we sort of know

 

More practical things”—
He pointed to the

 

Ceiling and I knew what
He meant—the cooler on the roof

 

I oiled last weekend.
“Girls are emotional,” he started,

 

But then leveled his gaze
On the television.

 

“What the heck!”
Dad crowed. “It's snowy.”

 

I had to climb to
The roof to get the picture

 

Right for him, Dad
Yelling, “Left, turn it left,

 

No right, right I said!”
I never learned about