Elementary

In the second grade we made buttons
in the school library after recess.
Our teacher intended
for us to scrawl with Crayolas
some V seagull soaring high,
so she’d know we had dreams to succeed.
Looking back on it,
this is what I’d presume about her.
My button was a call home
to momma, me in tears, teacher in tears.
Next to a daisy, “God is Science!”
Far too challenging for my peers,
how is someone meant to respond to that?
It is just unrealistic, and it’s unclear
what message our little artist is pushing.

In the fourth grade we traced a partner
on long strips of brown butcher paper.
We were supposed
to follow a dull pencil in one line
around the arms and legs of each other
so we’d know about bodies in the same shape.
Kiana, my best girl, laid her yesterday relaxed hair
on the strip and spread her fingers wide.
When she got up, “Why does your hair leave oil?”
Not the last phone call home to momma.
Far too much attention to Kiana’s blackness,
and in front of so many other peers.
It’s just a little invasive, disrespectful,
and it seemed like Kiana was uncomfortable.

It was here I learned.
Separation of church and state,
how to talk about skin differences in public.
I still think God is science.
I’m still curious about the body,
how my white body leaves different marks
than Kiana’s black body on a sheet of paper,
and how the worst thing to do is close my eyes
and tilt my head to the side, trying to find
my teacher’s vocabulary, or the right crayon,
as if I wanted to be on the safe side.
Looking back on it,
That is what she’d presumed about me.

Redwood Tree is Written Sequoia Sempervirens in Cursive

I crawled like a mole beneath the needles.
My fingers clawing through moist soil,
my hair catching on roots as big as arms,
my shoulders speckled with dirt
where most girls likely have freckles.

I heard twenty times from your mouth,
at least,
that you wanted to climb that tall tree.

I am Atlas on my tip toes pushing the weight
that feels like it crushes me,
though my spine is very straight
and probably very elegantly poised.

I writhed like a worm beneath the trunk
and with all my might
brought the three hundred and seventy feet
you had your eye so keenly fixed on
crashing to the forest floor.

I wanted to see you at the crown
of that tall tree.

My hand, from all that work,
was too dirty for you to hold.
I heard twenty times from your mouth,
at least.

Even That Little Bird

Coffee Shop, VENTURA, CA. Saint Patrick's Day morning.
One way conversation, but directed at Laura, Alex and me.
Woman, mid 40's, zebra print pants with the fly broken, sunburned face, big hips, yellow lips
from sucking yellow lolipop.

They say I'm crazy.
And I say "Damn right! That's why I take these pills!"
Everybody's got a key.
The neighbor's got a key
in case of a fire.
The police got a key
in case to help save me,
or just break in a window.
The landlord's got a key
in case to kick me out.
The boyfriend's got a key
to let himself in with his stuff,
and out with mine.
Everybody's got a key. So
always bring your driver's license
when you leave the house cause if it's gone,
it wasn't you that took it. It was someone else.
My daddy has two houses,
and he doesn't even give me one.
Or a key.
He doesn't give me nothing!
Good thing I got a heavenly father
to take care of me.
He cares for everything on earth.
Jesus Christ, even that little bird.