1 Thank god he stuck his tongue out. When I was twelve I was in danger of taking my body seriously. I thought the ache in my nipple was priceless. I thought I should stay very still and compare it to a button, a china saucer, a flash in a car side-mirror, so I could name the ache either big or little, then keep it forever. He blew no one a kiss, then turned into a maw. After I saw him, when a wish moved in my pants. I nurtured it. I stalked around my room kicking my feet up just like him, making a big deal of my lips. I was my own big boy. I wouldn't admit it then, but be definitely cocks his hip as if he is his own little girl. 2 People ask me--I make up interviews while I brush my teeth--"So, what do you remember best about your childhood?" I say mostly the drive toward Chicago. Feeling as if I'm being slowly pressed against the skyline. Hoping to break a window. Mostly quick handfuls of boys' skin. Summer twilights that took forever to get rid of. Mostly Mick Jagger. 3 How do I explain my hungry stare? My Friday night spent changing clothes? My love for travel? I rewind the way he says "now" with so much roof of the mouth. I rewind until I get a clear image of myself: I'm telling the joke he taught me about my body. My mouth is stretched open so I don't laugh. My hands are pretending to have just discovered my own face. My name is written out in metal studs across my little pink jumper. I've got a mirror and a good idea of the way I want my face to look. When I glance sideways my smile should twitch as if a funny picture of me is taped up inside the corner of my eye. A picture where my hair is combed over each shoulder, my breasts are well-supported, and my teeth barely show. A picture where I'm trying hard to say "beautiful." He always says "This is my skinny rib cage, my one, two chest hairs." That's all he ever says. Think of a bird with no feathers or think of a hundred lips bruising every inch of his skin. There are no pictures of him hoping he said the right thing.
Gold River Neck Riddle
What is red and singing on the inside, gray and moaning on the outside? (The opera house) What is green, damp, and stuck between the forest's teeth? (The doctor) What drags on the floor and catches fire? What reveals the girl's legs while destroying them? (The afternoon sun) What grows tall, blocks the sun, loses everything, and still darkens the field? (The young man looking for the idiot boy.) What spreads out by simplifying further? What (smoke) was here? What (government)? What saves and ruins? (The museum) What blooms amongst the rocks? (A ship) What opens wide and explains why? (A burning window) What is ill-advised in the new world? (What ends at the treeline. What split like a lip into two less viable possibilities.) What shimmers on our bodies when we are warm? (Our historic burning) What lines both the inside of our coats and the inside of our mouths? (Our current burning) What is the real museum? What is wet and is yet a wick? (The tongue, which becomes colorless over time. Which flakes.) What is the souvenir we bring home from the flood? (Our hair) On what bent and drinking animal are we the pattern? (The land) (The river) (The narrow) The trees were some stony being's fingers. We walked easily between them to the wet edge of its face.