And sent it to his friends.
I don’t like the memory
It seemed so unlike him
The considerate boy
I know now.
What did he think
At that moment?
Did he think my art was a joke?
He apologizes repeatedly
For the catastrophe he unleashed on me
Until his remorse gets tiresome
But still I wonder at the impulse
That made him do it.
Like the impulse that Samir got
To reject me and take me back
Deactivate and reactivate our love
Like an email account.
I’ve told them I forgive them
And I think I do
But maybe that’s just
A misguided impulse too.
MORE QUESTIONS
David asks
Are you ready?
I mean, are you sure?
He’s worried about me because
He knows school is hard to endure.
And Mom says
We could finish the year at home
You’ll pass your exams easily
She’s worried about me because
She understands fragility.
And Kayli says
Try not to get arrested
Or cause another revolution
She’s worried about me because
She’s seen my trails of destruction.
And Dad says
Get on the bus and come to my office
Anytime you can’t manage
He’s worried about me because
He’s the one who pays for the damage.
And I say to myself
Get it together this time, for real
High school is not brain surgery
I’m not worried because
Well…not really.
(SECOND) FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL
I text Samir first thing
Public or private?
And get the answer I expect.
Private, he texts
Because someone will blab
And
We’ll
Be
Back
Where
We
Started.
Both God and Allah know
No one wants to be there.
And I too would rather avoid
The judgment
The gossip
The assumptions
The jealousy
And all the other
Bullshit
That high school
L.O.V.E.
Involves.
But still
It sucks that
Of all the things
Samir feels
For me
One
Has to be
Shame.
THE FREEDOM WALL
I find it
The Freedom Wall
Where my classmates
Recorded their outrage
The black scribbles have expanded
To cover the whole wall
A bucket of felt pens
Invites me to add my mark.
The school endorses the Freedom Wall now
With reservations:
No Swearing, a small sign says
Someone has commented fuck that
My body, my decision
Someone wrote Ella Rocks
And someone else, Ella Sux
And a third, Who is Ella?
Good question.
She’s a bitch and a slut,
Someone answers
Helpfully.
Pretty sure I know
Who wrote that.
As for me
I barely remember being Ella
Barely remember anything
Before I was arrested
And charged
And acquitted for making pornography
Before my life fell apart
Before a piece of art
Reversed my
Rebirth and
Redefined me
Again
As Raphaelle.
THE CENTER PANEL
I still have it
That offending
Offensive
Photograph
Of the most
Intimate
Part
Of me.
I still love it
Like a Georgia O’Keeffe
Pink orchid petals
Hidden
In the back of my closet.
I still think
It’s the best thing
I’ve ever done
And it was all worth it
Because of the Freedom Wall
Because of Samir
Because of David
None of that
Would have happened
If it wasn’t for that little word
That starts with C.
Now I add
A curly Celtic C
In the top left corner
Of the Freedom Wall
A bold varsity U
In the top right
A scrolled N
In the bottom left
A T like a crucifix
In the bottom right.
I don’t sign my name
I’m wicked
Not stupid.
PRINCIPLES AND PRINCIPALS
I get called to the principal’s office
Before the first bell even rings
And have to check the mental record
Of my recent history
Wondering if anything I’ve done
Warrants another expulsion.
My cornerstone embellishments
To the Freedom Wall?
My deflowering
Of a devout Muslim
On the mudroom stairs?
I would love to tell
Principal Pinch Face
The depths of my depravity
But he begins with a peace offering
Such as it is.
I’d like us to start fresh, he says
As though you’re just new at this school
And I know nothing of your record.
My “permanent record”
I try not to smirk
Maybe the threats are all true.
Maybe that will never leave me.
Scarlet letters
AGITATOR stamped on my forehead.
Traditionally, he continues
The seniors plan a winter trip
This coming winter is New York.
We fundraise for about half the cost
And students contribute the rest
About a thousand dollars each.
It’s his turn to smirk
As if saying
I dare you.
ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS
My parents could probably afford it.
But Pinch Face knows I’m proud
And knows there’s 15 percent unemployment
In this college town
And knows how “difficult” I am
And that everyone knows it.
He has just done that thing
That bad teachers do
When they make it clear
They think you’ll amount to nothing
But trouble.
I could tell him
To take his New York trip
And shove it up his ass
Because it will just be
A bunch of high-school kids
Taking tours and shopping.
On the other hand
I’m pretty sure
There’s something
Greater
Waiting for me
In New York.
WORK
I try to imagine
What kind of job
I could do
What kind of employer
Would tolerate me.
I try to picture myself
In a blue fast-food uniform
Or mowing lawns
Or bussing tables.
I try to think
Of a way
To earn a thousand dollars
Without breaking laws
Or losing my mind.
I try to steel myself
For the tedium
The pedantic boss
The dull-witted co-workers
The canned music.
I try to swallow
The humiliating thought
That one day
No matter how hard I try
I’ll probably turn into my mother.
THE PRODIGAL DAUGHTER
In happier moments
I imagined my return to school
Like the end of a movie.
I imagined crowds of new friends
Drawn to me by notoriety
Wanting part of my famous wall
United in scorn against convention
Expectation and judgment.
I imagined the ones who sided with me
Gathering around cheering
Slapping me on the back
Maybe even laying palm fronds at my feet.
I imagined I would slip back into school
And find it finally fit me
Comfortable as a pair of worn pajamas
But more flattering.
In happier moments
I imagined a circle of girlfriends
Who didn’t make me
Hyperventilate.
In darker moments
I pictured slinking in
Past the smokers
The gossiping girls
The leering boys
Nose pinched against
The faint smell
Of failure and fear
Largely invisible
To a world where my existence
Was still mostly irrelevant.
Take a guess which
Possibility
Came true.
CLASSMATE
David eats his lunch with me
Thank God
Because I’m not sure anyone else
Would be game.
Samir watches warily
But when I catch him staring
He grins
A sly, slow grin.
As the rest of the school
Stumbles around us
Mind-numbed by sugar
And factoids
And desperation
Crawling, clawing
Creeping upward or sliding downward
On the popularity scale.
David eats his lunch with me
Even though he must know
That in my company
The only way is down.
GIRLS
Sarah
Who I called “Puffy Blond”
But only to myself
Whose mom drove me to the hospital
On Christmas Day
And listened when I defended Samir
From a terrible accusation
Sarah, who is probably a nice person
Under it all
Sarah
Ignores me.
Genie
Who was Sarah’s best friend
Before she defaced a painting
With unforgivable slurs
And blamed Samir
She is a vengeful manipulator
Not to be trusted
Genie
Has amassed a new entourage.
Sarah and Genie
Have divvied up our year
Into two lip-glossed militias
Hair-sprayed armies
Who occupy the halls
In a fragile cold war
And they all blame me.
Me
Who eschews the politics
Of girlhood
I tiptoe around them
Avoiding their minefields
And roadside bombs
I’m a pacifist
And a bit of a coward
I
Would rather not take sides.
ESSAY DRILL
It’s the usual waste of time
The usual crime of taking teenage brains
And putting them in chains
We should be in our creative prime
Instead we’re dwindling and unwinding
Grinding our ideas into fine dust
Letting them rust in five neat piles
With encouraging smiles
You keep telling us we must
Think of college, sink all our knowledge
Into this one stupid essay, S-A
S-A-T, are you satisfied?
Half my classmates have anxiety
Or are stupefied by pharmaceuticals
Or destined for cubicles
It is often said that our struggles teach us the most
Discuss.
If this were true, half the kids here
Would be geniuses
Because in this bubble they struggle
With every trouble the other kids have
Only double
Can’t read, can’t write
Can’t avoid a fight
And then there are kids who can’t walk
Or talk
Can’t dress themselves, not even a sock
Kids who drink, who can’t think
Forget about swimming; with them
It’s sink or sink.
PERSPECTIVE
I know it’s wrong
To think of Marika this way
Ms. Sagal’s silent daughter
Her odd contorted posture
Frail, unpredictable arms.
I know the photo I took of her
Last year, Disabled
Was supposed to be ironic.
Because one word
Could never sum her up.
Her laugh is infectious
Her silence is mesmerizing
Her art blows my mind.
Wild swirls and fractured words
Like Basquiat.
The other girls look at her
With mournful eyes
And patronizing smiles.
She smiles back
The multitudes of Marika
But once, I’m pretty sure
She winked at me.
Sometimes I think
I should have her problems
Her “struggles”
Could teach me a thing or two.
DAD
Dad asks me
Predictably
How was your first day?
One-syllable answers
Should be enough.
Fine, I say
Chill
Dull.
The multi-syllables
Terrifying
Solitary
Meaningless
Discouraging
Soul destroying
No different
From last year.
A hotbed of
Temptation
Irritation
Oppression
Subjugation
Perplexity
And despair
I keep to myself.
Chapter Two
Unmasked
RAIN
Wet snow turns to rain
Melts the white icing away
Revealing gray roads.
This spring, so unlike
The frayed-edge coastal seasons,
Is bold, harsh and quick.
I never thought it
Possible that I’d ever
Grow to love winter.
But spring here explodes
With gleeful celebration
Green, fresh and fertile.
RELIEF
Speaking of fertility
My body gives me a break for once.
My period started,
I whisper to Samir
Before art class.
Alhamdulillah, he replies
Eyes turned upward
And we both laugh at the
irony.
What’s so funny?
David says
Trailing into class after us.
Your haircut, Samir says.
I frown at him
But David just shakes his head
Fake laughing.
Hilarious, Sam, he says
You should have a TV show.
And Samir flips him off
Then makes a game
Of picking invisible bugs
From my hair
As an excuse to touch me
Until David says
Why don’t you get some manners?
And Samir says
Why don’t you get a personality?
And I say
Why don’t you both
Just get your dicks out
And measure them?
Only I say it so loud
The whole class hears.
And Genie says
Are you planning another artwork?
Penises this time?
And Ms. Sagal frowns
Before gently reminding us
The phallus is a popular theme
In modern art
But for now
Let’s keep it PG.
INK
Ink
Black lines
The shape of
David’s hand
Strong
And open
Like a bed
I could curl into
His fingers
Soft
And safe
His hand stained
With black
Ink.
PROCRASTINATION
The truth is
Samir and I
Have gone through that box of condoms
Since the incident on the stairs
And I’m still no closer
To altering David’s friendship
Into something more.
The truth is
I’m
Afraid
Of
Losing
Him.
The truth is
When I say
“Losing him”
I’m not sure
Which “him”
I mean.
The truth is
Part of me
Wants to run away
From both of them
Before they can
Hurt me again.
The truth is
In the dark
Of my room
Their outlined hands
Pinned to my wall
Look like claws.
The truth is
What I say
About not wanting
To be normal
Is not actually
The truth.
SPRING FLING
Kayli twirls
In the vintage pink chiffon dress
It’s a twirlish dress, she says
Tugging at the high neck.
Don’t twirl too much, I say
Or the boys will see your underwear.
You’d know, Kayli quips
And twirls so fast
The dress flies up
And gives me an eyeful
Capricious Page 2
