Talking Her Out of It

She’s still got a cut on her hand

And they’re talking her out of it

Crouched over their own laps

They’re rubbing her shoulder

This makes her gag

But she turns it into a cough

She knows they want to help

But they’re aiding and abetting

Mom is distracted by who knows what

Dad is feigning rage, but he’s so tired his hands shake

She knows what he did

But they’re talking her out of it

Her left eye is bruised

And her toe might be broken

It’s sixty-five in March

But she can’t get warm

I’m cold, she says

And they tell her she’s not

She declares things

And they counter

They give her answers to questions

She didn’t want to ask

The dog sits with her

And doesn’t do a thing

How sad that it understands

Something they can’t

She picks at her nails

And legalese jumps around

The word ‘but’ grows five fingers

And gets ready to punch

‘We can do something

But—‘

‘We can go to the police

But—‘

‘We know this isn’t fair

But—‘

She thinks she should see a doctor

But they’re talking her out of it

‘Stuff like this,’ her dad says,

‘It goes on and on’

‘It never ends,’ her mother says

Speaking from the high point of no experience

‘It’s all in how you think of it,’ her dad says

Telling her how to feel, what to want, how to heal

‘It would be better if we all just moved on,’ her mom says

Probably wishing something was burning on the stove

That there was another problem to tend to

One that could be fixed by turning things down

Her ear still feels wet

From where his mouth was

Her right arm itches

Did it itch before?

What about her now is the cause of him

What exists that otherwise wouldn’t?

Was that birthmark there before?

Did her front tooth always have a little chip in it?

She thinks she’s somehow different

But they’re talking her out of it

She hates this couch, she realizes

This is the couch where you’re talked out of things

Like being mad at your third grade teacher

Because she called you fat in front of the class

Like blaming your cousin for pulling your shirt off at Thanksgiving

Because he’s a little boy, and that’s what little boys do

Like skipping the pool party of the boy

Who told everyone you went down on him

‘You’re too sensitive,’ your dad says

‘You gotta learn to let stuff go’

‘It’s always something with you,’ your mom says,

‘We’re always dealing with something’

They get up from their spots

Across from the couch and that’s meant to be it

If it’s brought up again, she’ll get the look the dog gets

When it drags in dead mice from the yard

She wants to be the type of person

Who calls out for help, or who can help themselves

She wants to be a warrior

A troublemaker, somebody you don’t fuck with

She wants to write his name

On every house in town

She wants a father who will comfort her

And a mother who will avenge her

She wants to be strong and angry

And loud and resilient and hurt

She wants to say what he did

So it can never be unsaid

She wants to do something

Other than sit on a couch on a Monday night

Dealt with like she’s the problem

And not him or what he did

She wants, she wants, she wants

But they’re talking her out of it

The Last One to Say Your Name

I can promise

That one day

You’ll be a mountain

Solid rock formation

And all the names

Of all the folks

Carved into your cliffside

I see stairways on the mountain

Letting people

Scale your majesty

Remark on your sweep

Admire your permanence

That is what I’ll do for you

I’ll make you unmoving

You reached out, didn’t you?

You grabbed for my hand

To see if I was here

And a hundred hands reached back

Which to hold

Which to grasp

Which would save you

Do you think?

All I can be is a voice in the room

Saying softy—It’s okay, it’s okay

And today might be the day

A little room is all you get

A northern view

Of a setting sun

A few plump pillows

A half-filled cup of juice

Two books you’ll never read

And a faded magazine

Your hair’s been washed a thousand times

Your teeth are scrubbed

Your feet are pink

You smell like a new car in an old neighborhood

People touch your arm

And speak confessions

To your bad ear

And you forgive them for the things

You don’t even know they did

For them, this is when

You disappear

Once their last remark is clear

Once they’ve said their peace

They put you to rest in their mind

And they stumble towards

Their new to-do lists

I’ll be the last one in the room

A remaining hand

To play the score

To fiddle with the notes

And come up with a coda

For when the moment

Introduces itself

This is when I tell you

About the mountain you’ll become

Or the shoreline

Or the trees

You’ll go out and down

Or up and high

And nobody will ever

Accuse you

Of being here and gone

One day, I’ll attempt the mountain

Or skip the shore

Or try the trees

And within that core

Of time and trust

You’ll seem to remember me

I’ll identify myself

And that’ll be all

Because I don’t mind

Being lost

I don’t mind

That my time was rented

That my breath was borrowed

That my space was held

I find more of myself

In the magician

Than I do the poet

I’m rescued by the clock

There’s the chime

Where’s the time

Gotta run

It’s been fun

Anybody seen my rock?

You see?

I’m not quite good

At poetry

But I promise

That one day

You’ll be a mountain

If not a tall one

Than one that’s deep

That goes far into the earth

And is hardened by its core

You will never be forgotten

You will never break apart

No one will ever ask who you were

Because I’ll keep you in the center

I’ll remember

I’ll remember

I’ll be the last one to say your name

The last one to say it

For the very last time

By then, who knows

Where any of us will be

Or what anybody will look like

Or what will be remembered

But you—

You will be a mountain

And I will rest against you

And my last words

Will be

Your name

The Astronaut's Daughter

Mom went to Jupiter
Two days after I lost my virginity
To Joe Wells-Bishop
In his dead brother's room

He led me in there
To show me how you could see the air
Because it was preserved
By his father
In an attempt to hold back bits of carbon
That had once been expelled by his brother

Joe's brother Sam-Sam
Died in the Water Tower accident
Of 2011

I remember hearing about it
And hearing that only two people died

I remember thinking
Only two people?
Well, that's good

But two people is a lot
When once you know one of them

Joe laid me down on his dead brother's bed
And became the first boy
To show me how stubble on skin feels
How it tickles you in a way
That nothing else does

I went home that night
After doing it with Joe three more times
On the bedspread where his dead brother
Used to look up at glow-in-the-dark stars
Stuck to his ceiling

In the kitchen, Mom was coloring in pictures of Jupiter
From a coloring book she bought at the dollar store

'We should spend some time together,' she said
'In two days you're never going to see me again'

'Will it be like you're dead,' I asked her

She looked up from the coloring book
Blew her breath upwards to knock the hair out of her eyes
And express her anxiety
Then shrugged

'It'll be worse, I think,' she said,
'Yeah, it actually might be worse'

Two days later, she made me an astronaut's daughter

We shared an awkward hug
The morning she left

I made her coffee
While Dad stayed in the shower upstairs
Waiting for the water
To make sense to him

'Take care of yourself,' she told me
'How,' I asked
'Fuck if I know,' she said

Then came the hug
Then a runaway tear
Rubbed clean with a harsh hand

No crying
That was our deal
Whether or not
Our eyes knew it

I watched her drive away
And then I went and put on her robe
So I could start feeling like her
Like somebody who gets up in the morning
And reads the news
And makes herself breakfast
And irons her uniform
And knows what she's doing
Even when she doesn't know she knows what she's doing

I went upstairs and knocked on the bathroom door
To let Dad know it was over
His wife was gone
He could dry off now

Back downstairs, I turned on the tv
And waited for the breaking news

The rockets
The thrusters
The open sky

And a path from here to Jupiter
Marked out so clearly
It really didn't seem
That far at all