I knew which poem I wanted to submit for the first issue.
The Colors of Me
by Anonymous
Black like the ace of spades
when you yell my name,
cussing in the next breath,
like I’m as dirty as the word.
Red like a painful sunburn,
lingering for days,
the anger never cooling
between you and me.
Gray like bits of gravel
as I walk along the path,
barefoot and alone,
my voice never heard.
Yellow like a baby chick
free from its confining shell,
when I’m busy at work,
surrounded by joy.
Pink like a rosebud
ready to bloom into greatness,
nurtured with tender care
when friends are near.
White like a cloud,
flying free, lined with hope,
drifting and dreaming
of a life without darkness.
the hospital—4:08 p.m.
I can’t turn off the memories.
They just keep coming, one after the other after the other. Is this what it means to have your life flash before your eyes?
“Her mother is on her way. Should be here soon.”
When I wrote that poem, the contrast in my life was so clear. Some parts were dark and dreary, while other parts were bright and colorful.
The dark and the light.
It used to be they were always separate.
“Good. We’re almost ready to take her up.”
When did the darkness sneak into the light?
It happened so slowly, I didn’t even notice.
I was on my cloud, drifting and dreaming.
Drifting and dreaming.
Drifting and dreaming.
Kind of like . . . now.
five months earlier
not quite the happiest place on earth
NATHAN’S HAND CREPT UNDER MY SWEATER, UP MY STOMACH, and into my bra. His mouth pressed on mine, impatient, as he laid me down on his bed.
I turned my head and pushed his body away from mine, sitting back up. “No, Nathan, stop. Please.”
He caressed my cheek. “Rae, come on. It’d be so good.”
When he leaned in for more kisses, I answered with a quick one and gently pushed him away again. “I’m not ready. How many times have I told you that?”
He looked at me like a sad kitten. “Rae, you are everything to me. You know that, right? I don’t know what I’d do without you. Still, a guy can only make out for so long. It’s not fair. Kissing might be enough for you, but it’s not for me.”
I sighed. I loved his kisses that tasted like bubble gum. Loved being in his arms, where I felt safe and cared for. He wanted me like no one had ever wanted me, and, yeah, it felt good to be wanted. But we hadn’t been going out that long. I didn’t want to be like my mom, always jumping into bed with the first guy who came along. I’d promised myself my first time would be with someone I loved.
And although I loved his kisses, I didn’t think I loved Nathan.
I got up to go home. He grabbed my arm. “Rae, please, don’t be mad.” I shook my arm free and kept walking. “Wait. Where are you going?”
“Disneyland,” I quipped. I glanced back and saw the hurt on his face. My heart softened. I didn’t want to upset him. “The bathroom, okay?”
He moaned. “Who needs Disneyland? We could have all kinds of fun if you’d just let it happen.”
In the bathroom, I patted my hair down and straightened my sweater. Maybe I should have just gone home after we’d met up for ice cream. As I licked my cone, he’d looked at me with such longing. He’d raised his eyebrows and whispered, “No one’s home at my house. Want to come over?”
“Where are they?” I’d asked.
“Mom’s out with a new friend. My dad’s away on tour. At least that’s what he said. He never tells us where he’s at or what his schedule is or anything. Just calls us occasionally to say hi and to let us know that he’s still alive. Like I even care.”
“Nathan.” I’d lightly slapped his arm. “Of course you care. He’s your dad.”
He’d laughed. Actually laughed. “I’m sorry to break it to you, but Gary Sharp is not a nice guy. He doesn’t give a shit about anyone else but himself. It’s hard to care about someone like that.”
I thought of Dean. Of my mom, at times. Of course he was right, and I knew better than anyone what he was talking about. It was hard to care about someone like that. Still, whenever his dad came up, I saw sadness in his eyes. I could tell he tried to push it down and bury it. But I saw it, peeking out, like the first signs of spring.
“Does that bother your mom?” I’d asked.
“I think so. I mean, she’d never say it does. But how could it not?”
“So why does she stay with him?”
He’d chuckled, playing with his cone wrapper. “And do what if she left? She’s never worked a day in her life. No, she’ll never leave. She knows she’s nothing without him.”
After that he’d begged me to go home with him. And because I’d felt sorry for him, I said yes. Besides, I’d figured it’d be a nice change of pace to make out somewhere other than the cemetery.
But lately we always seemed to end up fighting, because he wanted more than I did. The attraction between us was strong, no doubt about it. I loved the way everything faded around us when we were together, until there was nothing but me and him and the moment. Why couldn’t the closeness we shared be enough for him?
Sometimes I wondered if Nathan and I were really a good match. We often struggled to find things to talk about. So he’d fill the awkward moments with kissing. That was what we did best.
When I’d talked to Alix about my concerns, she’d said I was crazy. Everyone adored Nathan. It seemed like I should too.
I took a deep breath and went back to Nathan’s room. He stood at the window, looking outside.
“I’m ready to go,” I said as I looked around, searching for my purse. “Your mom will probably be home soon anyway.”
“Nah. When she goes out, she stays out late.” He came over and pulled me to him. “I’m telling ya, it’s the perfect opportunity, right here.” He kissed my neck in the spot below my ear that makes me quiver. It felt like a last-ditch effort to get me to change my mind and fall into bed with him.
I untangled myself from his arms. “Stop it. I can’t believe how persistent you are. Maybe this isn’t working, Nathan. Maybe I’m not the right girl for you, if that’s all you want.”
His mouth dropped open. “What? What do you mean?”
I crossed my arms and looked at the floor, to avoid his eyes. “I’m tired of saying no all the time. What I mean is, I’m tired of you asking all the time. I’m not ready.” My eyes met his, and I saw something that looked like fear. “I’m tired of every date ending like this. That stuff you told me about your dad? That’s the first real thing you’ve told me. I feel like I don’t know you, Nathan. Like we talk, but not really. It’s all just . . . noise. A means to an end for you.”
He shook his head, his eyes pleading with me now. “No. No, that’s not true. I love hanging out with you, being with you, and not just in a physical way.” He came closer. “Please, Rae. You gotta believe me. We’re good together. Maybe I’m pushing you a little too hard, but I’m a guy. You can’t condemn me for that.”
Before I could respond, he kissed me. His solution to everything, it seemed. But I was tired of doing what he wanted simply because I didn’t want to upset him.
What I wanted to do in that moment was leave. And that’s exactly what I did.
poetry journal—november
WHO AM I?
I’m the girl
keeping secrets,
bottled up tight.
The girl
with the parents
who yell day and night.
/>
The girl
who’s never been
quite good enough.
The girl
crying inside
but acting all tough.
But something strange happens
when I’m with you.
I forget who that girl is,
because what do you do?
You tell me sweet things
that I’ve never heard.
Suddenly “beautiful”
is more than a word.
When we walk down the hall,
holding hands, you and me,
I’m the cute guy’s girlfriend,
the one
other girls
wish they could be.
a way with words
TUESDAY MORNING, AND I WAS RUNNING LATE. AGAIN. I CRAMMED my books along with my poetry journal into my backpack and hustled out to the kitchen. I grabbed the last banana out of the fruit bowl.
“Yesterday was the fifteenth, Rae.”
I hadn’t heard him coming, so it startled me. I spun around. Dean stood there wearing one of his flattering wife-beater T-shirts and a pair of boxer shorts.
“I don’t do business with people who aren’t wearing pants,” I said, disgusted by his greediness more than his appearance.
“Give me the damn check,” he barked. “You were asleep when I got home last night, so I didn’t bug you for it then. Next time I might not be so considerate.”
Considerate? What a joke. “Where were you anyway? I made dinner for you and you never showed.”
“None of your business.”
I reached into my backpack and pulled out my wallet along with a pen. He watched as I signed my paycheck over to him. It was the second one since our little “agreement.”
“Where’s my share?”
He snatched the check from my hand and dropped the bills he’d been holding onto the floor. I picked them up as he retreated back to his bedroom.
“Forty bucks?” I yelled. “Are you kidding me? How am I supposed to pay my insurance? This will barely pay for my gas!”
I wanted to jump on him. Slam him into the wall. But I knew even yelling at him could make things worse. Last time he’d given me a hundred, and I’d objected, loudly, since my checks are usually around three hundred. He’d told me I better watch it, because I was lucky to be getting any at all.
“Dean, come on,” I said, with all the sweetness I could muster as I chased after him. “Please? Can’t I have forty more? Or even twenty?”
He glared at me. “You want to eat or not? Now get your ass to school.”
I gathered my stuff and trudged to my truck. Something told me it was going to be a long day.
• • •
At school Nathan met me at my locker, like he had every morning for the past few weeks. I’d get my stuff for my morning classes, then we’d walk to the benches together. When I eyed him standing there like our disagreement the night before had never happened, I found myself wishing for the days I didn’t have a boyfriend to worry about on top of everything else.
“I’m kind of surprised to see you,” I said. “Thought you might want a little space today.”
He pulled me to him. “Please don’t be upset with me. Please? Let’s pretend it never happened. You came to my house and we played Scrabble. Wasn’t it fun? Sorry I beat you, but I’m good with those triple word scores.” His eyes searched mine for a trace of forgiveness, though he hadn’t even apologized for how he’d behaved. Not really.
His finger traced my jaw. “It’s so good to see you, beautiful.” His blue eyes kissed me before his lips did. And then we were at it, doing what we did best.
Kissing.
More kissing.
And yes, more kissing.
When I pulled away, he whispered, “Everything’s cool with us, right?”
I put my finger on that dimple I loved so much. “You have to back off trying to get me horizontal. Okay?”
“Whatever you say.”
I wasn’t quite convinced, but I could feel people’s eyes on us as they walked by. I didn’t want to talk about it anymore. Not here.
“You know, I have Saturday off,” I said as I moved around him to get to my locker. “Want to go to Portland? Maybe go to the art museum or something?”
He groaned and slumped against the wall. “The art museum? You’re kidding, right?”
I stopped midspin and turned to him. “No, I’m not kidding. I thought it’d be fun. I want to get out of here. Have an adventure, you know?”
“An art museum is not an adventure, Rae. It’s more like a prison sentence. Maybe we could catch a college game or something. That’d be fun.”
Typical Nathan. I grabbed my books and slammed the door closed. Suddenly, I didn’t want to spend my day off with him.
I pretended to be sad. “Oh, you know what? I just remembered, I promised Alix we’d go shopping. Sorry. Maybe you and Santiago can go to a game.”
As we walked, holding hands, girls stopped what they were doing and stared at us. Would it ever stop? We should have been old news. Although maybe his good looks would never get old.
When we got to the benches, a few guys leaning against the wall called out to Nathan, and he headed over to say hi. I sat down next to Alix and whispered in her ear, “I told Nathan we have plans on Saturday. So, can we do something?”
She gave me a concerned look. “Sure. What’s going on?”
I mouthed, “Later.”
Felicia sat next to Alix, reading a newspaper. “Hi, Felicia,” I said.
She looked up and smiled. “Hey. How’s it going?”
“Fine. Is that the school paper, by chance?”
“Yeah. There’s some over there in the rack.”
I jumped up, snagged one, and came back to my seat. I thumbed through the paper until I found the pull-out section. They’d titled it “Poetry Matters.” Alix looked over my shoulder.
After a minute she pointed at one and laughed. “Oh my God. Michael Montgomery. I’m pretty sure he’s the only guy in the school who would feel compelled to write a poem comparing boxer shorts to tighty whities.”
I chuckled and kept reading. Some were good. Some, not so much.
Alix pointed to my poem. “What’s the deal with anonymous? Everyone else included a name. Embarrassed, maybe?”
I blinked, trying not to show my surprise at her pointing to my poem. “Maybe. Who knows?”
“It’s pretty good,” Alix said. “Sad, though.”
Felicia looked up from reading. “Rae, how come you didn’t submit a poem? Didn’t you tell me once you love writing poetry?”
“Yeah. I do. It’s just . . . Robert Frost I am not.” I elbowed Alix, wanting to turn the attention away from myself. “What about you? You should write about that Mustang you’ve been working on.”
She sat up straight and smiled. “Hey. Maybe I will. I mean, if Michael Montgomery can do it—”
“Anyone can do it,” we said at the same time, then laughed.
The bell rang, so I let Nathan kiss me good-bye before Felicia and I scurried off to English.
Felicia motioned to the board as we took our seats. “Deadline for the next issue is coming up. You should write something, Rae.”
“I don’t know. Between work and school and Nathan, I don’t have any time.”
“You could use something you’ve already written. You must have some, right?”
Thankfully, I didn’t get a chance to respond. The bell rang and Ms. Bloodsaw started talking. My friends didn’t really know about my poetry journals. I was afraid if they knew, they’d want to read some of the stuff. And that was the problem—most everything I wrote was just too personal to share. Maybe other people could write about underwear or trees or their dog, but to me it was like, what’s the point? It should matter. It should say something. Mean something.
With class well underway, I slipped out my poetry journal and paged through it. I stopped when I landed on one I’d rewritten a f
ew months ago, after I’d found it in one of my earlier journals. I’d do that sometimes—find one that needed work, pull it out, and spend time searching for better words. I loved getting lost in the process of revision. Maybe lots of things in my life were out of my control, but when it came to my words, I had all the authority.
I’d written the first draft soon after we’d moved in with Dean. What was I? Twelve? I remembered how I had felt when I’d written it. My illusions of what “a new man” and “we’re getting married” meant shattered like a broken window. I’d believed my mom when she told me our life would be so much better with Dean around. Not only did I believe her, I’d let myself imagine a happy family, like I used to dream about as a little girl.
For the girl who had longed for just a little happiness at home and never got it, I chose that poem.
In My Imagination
by Anonymous
Most kids imagine
castles and dragons
and knights wielding swords.
Or fairies with pixie dust,
making wishes come true.
Not me.
I liked to imagine
one happy family,
taking trips to the zoo.
Packing lunch in a basket
for a day at the park.
Happy me.
I can hardly believe
how different life is
from those childhood dreams.
No zoo trips, no picnics,
just harsh words and spite.
Disappointed me.
Alone in my room,
I feel trapped,
and forgotten.
What I’d give for a fairy tale
and wishes come true.
Why me?
So I’ll imagine
my real dad, a knight,