Partly Cloudy

by Gary Soto

  They say we must cut down

  Trees to make paper. If so,

  I'm guilty of cutting down a forest—

  Little black books in my drawer,

  And, like me, barely used.

  Barriers

  Who will understand us?

  Not your parents or mine,

  As I'm Japanese

  And you're Mexican,

  Both of us third generation.

  What do we know—

  Gracias, por favor,

  Arigato, sayonara.

  Who will understand us?

  Holding hands,

  I notice the color of

  Our skin becoming one

  In time.

  Testing You

  You said I smelled like a flower

  And I gripped your arm.

  “Okay, lover boy, what kind of flower?”

  That stopped you. Your eyes

  Searched around, baffled.

  Nothing behind them but the NBA teams?

  You answered, “A red flower.”

  And brat me said, “Oh, you mean a jasmine.”

  You nodded your bobble head.

  “Yeah, that one. You smell hecka pretty.”

  That's okay. I knew you didn't know

  The names of flowers. A jasmine is white,

  And your face would be red

  If I told you my father, a gardener,

  Would make you shovel seven years

  For my sweet-smelling hand, if you should ask.

  The Big Chill

  We have lost something.

  In September your hand squeezed mine

  And the next month we just walk next

  To each other, shoulders touching,

  You smiling but not really.

  It's not the same. The sun rises, the sun falls.

  Shadows the color of diesel exhaust

  Roll across the lawn,

  And the trees are unlatching their leaves.

  It's not the same as when we first met.

  It's November. After football practice,

  You show me the bruises on your arms.

  I wish I could show you the one spreading

  Around my heart.

  In December the snow will erase

  Our footsteps. You'll be gone.

  My chilled breath will hang in the air

  And my lonely shadow will walk behind me.

  First Kiss

  I haven't been kissed,

  But I'm waiting.

  I'm a little scared. Do I hold my breath,

  Close my eyes, and peek when he

  Leans in to me? Do I lick my lips,

  And offer my neck for the first one?

  My fingernails are chewed from worry.

  My cheeks are red as sin. Nothing has happened,

  Nothing yet. But when it does, I'll call

  My best friend and tell what took only seconds

  For hours and hours.

  Anonymous Tug

  I swear the school clock is slow,

  And our teacher is repeating himself every three minutes.

  Poor Mr. Mathews has more hair on his ears

  Than on his shiny head. He's a gentle

  Scholar with chalk dust on his eyelashes

  And lunch on the front of his shirt.

  Can't the clock hurry up and do a quick lap?

  Can't we have a fire drill?

  I'm thinking of you, my secret pretty boy.

  When the bell rings, I'm going to toss myself

  Into the hallway. If you feel a tug

  On your backpack, think of me,

  A fish swimming upstream

  In the river of bodies.

  Paper Boat

  You folded a piece of paper

  Into a boat and set it on the pond.

  We stepped back, hand in hand,

  And watched your creation drift.

  Then they arrived, two ducks

  That began to peck at your little ship.

  I covered my mouth with my hand,

  Stomped my foot, and scolded, “Go away!”

  The duck with cruel eyes lifted

  Your paper boat into its bill—

  Three pecks made it sink, just another

  Piece of litter at the pond's edge.

  We were young, not yet fourteen.

  What chance could our love have

  In a world so rough?

  Fake Love

  When you moved away,

  You said you would write and call.

  I checked my e-mail and my cell phone

  A hundred times a day.

  You were a fake. I was the one who helped

  You in math. You didn't learn anything!

  Like you are one, I am two, we're a pair!

  You were a fake, an unsolved math problem,

  Even when you put on a clip-on bow tie

  And teased your hair to look like Einstein.

  You were not smart enough to know

  What you would lose.

  The Invisible Girl

  I'm unnoticed, some call me clumsy.

  I wear a Band-Aid on my finger

  Like a wedding band. Band-Aids

  On my knees, near my ankles,

  On my heart. I hurt a lot,

  From the cruelty of boys.

  I brush against them in the hallway.

  In the cafeteria, they push in front

  Of me and step on my shoes.

  Still, I scribble hearts on my binder.

  This is who I am: a girl taped

  From head to toe. Pull off the Band-Aids,

  I'll be the Invisible Girl,

  Everyone passing through me,

  No one touching.

  Neighborhood

  How long is a bus ride

  Somewhere pretty,

  With flowers in window boxes,

  Green lawns and wind chimes?

  Here, what do we know

  But gangsta rap

  Behind the smoked windows

  Of long squeaky cars,

  And the yellow grill on the face

  Of a thug leaning from

  The porch, calling, “Hey, baby.”

  I'll walk on by to the store

  And when I return find his shadows

  Crumpled on a dead lawn.

  Love, how long is a bus ride

  Somewhere pretty,

  To some park where the gophers

  Come up from their holes,

  Not go down to take cover.

  Horses

  Call me this afternoon,

  Call and say, “Hey.”

  I'll bare my teeth like a horse,

  Say, “Hay's for horses,”

  And whinny. It's something

  We do. We're in love

  And we play along

  Like horses—carrots

  And apples, a piece of sugar,

  And to make you beautiful,

  A comb for your mane!

  Like a horse in a stall,

  I'm waiting. Please call,

  Love, and if you like,

  You can name me Misty

  Or Moonglow, any horsey name.

  But first punch in my number,

  You cowpoke! Be yourself,

  And say, “Hey.”

  Playing Football

  For a while I liked

  Boys with curly hair,

  And then straight hair,

  Short Afros, or daring boys

  With green spiky hair.

  Now at the beginning

  Of football season, I like

  Them with cropped heads,

  Like Michael, my hero next door!

  Coach made him shave

  His head, and made him

  Do enough push-ups

  That an empire of muscles

  Dwells on his chest!

  On my leaf-strewn lawn,

  He plays catch with me.

  But I drop them all, the long

  And short spi
rals,

  Even easy shovel passes.

  To me, he's so cute.

  If he were my boyfriend,

  I wouldn't let him slip

  From my hands.

  Lazy Cupid

  I first heard about Cupid

  When I was nine, how this chubby

  Little guy would pull back his arrow

  And plug someone with love.

  You could be at the supermarket

  Bending down to pick up a case

  Of Gatorade when Cupid,

  A sneak by the rack

  Of candy bars, would shoot

  An arrow into your thigh—

  Suddenly, in love,

  Your taste was for a boy,

  Or a girl—forget the Gatorade!

  I'm thirteen, thirsty for the love

  Of a boy at school,

  But where is Cupid now?

  Why is he a lazy

  Couch potato? Is he cramming

  A handful of chips

  Into his mouth, a grubby

  Little guy with food

  Between his teeth?

  I'm on the couch myself,

  Sleepy from watching

  A movie that's no good.

  I rest my eyes. I close them

  And see you, my would-be guy.

  If only Cupid would get off the couch.

  For the Love of Dogs

  When you said you liked dogs

  I introduced you to Roger, an Australian mix,

  And the three of us—a love

  Triangle—went to Dog Park.

  Pooches exercise there.

  They frolic, roll, slobber on balls, catch Frisbees.

  Sometimes they bare their teeth and fight.

  But not Roger, my pacifist dog.

  No, he's the kind who'll shake paws

  And politely wipe his nose

  On the kerchief around his neck.

  Love, I like how your hair is shaggy,

  That your sweater, when wet, smells of dog.

  And that you itch when I'm around.

  I love you for this. Remember one day

  At Dog Park, you and Roger

  Were among other dogs,

  All jumping around, fleas jumping from one

  Pooch to another? I slapped my thighs

  And called, “Come here, boy.”

  You looked up, and with the other dogs,

  Came running!

  Little Puppy

  I can't get enough of you.

  In biology I secretly flip open my cell

  And look at you, digitally caught.

  You're so cute, hair slanting over your left eye,

  And a chain on your neck—

  You are my little puppy.

  If I attach a leash

  And lead you around the city,

  Would you snag a Frisbee with your teeth?

  Would you eat from my hand?

  My grandma says, “It's puppy love,”

  An old phrase from her time.

  I might agree.

  You're my puppy, a nice puppy.

  Your paws know their place,

  Not like the dogs my girlfriends see,

  Paws everywhere, and dirty, too!

  Pears

  The tears inside a pear are sweet,

  And I like to think

  Of us as pears,

  Sweet and a little round.

  The world is cruel.

  When it bites us,

  We cry sweet little tears.

  Bossy Girl

  I've forgotten everything you said to me,

  Except one word: Good-bye.

  It rings in my ears. You walked away,

  Your left shoulder higher than the right,

  And I wanted to shout, “Stand up straight!”

  Even as you were leaving.

  Now I cry in my bedroom.

  My shoulders heave up and down.

  I can't help the way I am,

  Telling everyone what to do.

  Even my goldfish, his ugly mouth

  Pouting, makes me angry.

  “Stop it!” I scold, and the goldfish turns away,

  Swishing his tail at me.

  Why should I care?

  At least my shoulders are straight,

  Not like yours,

  As I cry alone.

  When I Lost You

  I wrote in my diary

  All about you—first kiss,

  Second kiss, a hug at the mall

  With shoppers swinging

  Their bags, envious

  Of our young love?

  Each time I wrote

  I had to unlock the diary

  With a little key. I wrote

  In a rainbow of

  Colors—pink of flowers,

  Baby blue of sky, black

  Of tornadoes, and gold

  Of what we were worth.

  Then the colors changed

  When I lost you.

  Now I'm the color of

  A bruise,

  And you're faded yellow,

  The color of lies.

  Time with You

  We're thirteen, almost fourteen,

  And so much in love

  We want the years to pass—

  Clouds roll at super speed, rains fall,

  Flowers unfold and die at the snap

  Of our fingers. I want to stuff sand

  Through a fat hourglass,

  And rip the pages from the calendar.

  Let me blow candles from my cake.

  Let my puppy stretch to full size.

  When we turn eighteen,

  Time will become a canoe on a still lake.

  We'll be in that canoe, you with your

  Guitar—one string busted. But who cares?

  Let it be the same song,

  Let the springtime flowers wave in the wind

  But never let their petals fall.

  Sparks

  When I pull clean clothes

  From the dryer—static

  And sparks—I'm reminded

  Of you at football practice,

  Mud in your cleats,

  Grass streaks, maybe blood.

  I imagine your face flushed,

  Grimacing as you throw

  Your helmet into a tackle.

  The result? Yellow

  And red sparks,

  Little devil horns of hurt.

  Love, don't hurt yourself.

  Come to me

  When you're done,

  And I'll put your jersey

  Through the hot cycle. Rest

  On the couch. Bring your face

  To my face—sparks on

  Our lips—and we'll clunk heads,

  Gently, my love, gently.

  Home Alone, and Liking It

  My parents are gone, the television is off,

  And I can flip open my phone

  And kiss your image.

  In my pajamas I dance around the living room.

  I like being alone on Saturday,

  I like having nothing to do. From the front window

  I see it's partly cloudy. It may rain,

  Or not rain. I may call you or not call,

  My sleepy lover boy.

  I'll pet my cat, ring the bell under its neck.

  I'll dance around the living room some more,

  Then into the kitchen (I'll nibble at toast),

  And into the bathroom (I'll shower and sing).

  It's Saturday, partly cloudy,

  And I'm alone. You're a bear in bed,

  And I'm a bird dancing in the living room

  Singing off-key but singing anyway.

  I can flip open my cell and look at you.

  I'm home alone, so much in love.

  I'm home alone, and liking it.

  A Boy’s Body, His Words

  Mirror

  I walk to my bedroom mirror

  And find you there, a reflection,

  Some assembled light. I run my
hands

  Through my hair, and smile,

  Then stop smiling. You're miles away,

  On vacation at a lake that eats at the shore.

  But let me believe, let me believe,

  This afternoon hour

  You're pulling the hair behind your ear

  And stepping knee-deep in the lake,

  And your baby brother, naked as Cupid,

  Is shoving mud into a pail.

  I see you skip a stone over the water,

  See you march into the lake, chills on your arms.

  You call me cute, but how long will you be mine?

  My breath fogs the glass.

  When I wipe it, you're gone.

  The Second Button

  The button hangs, as if it's done something wrong,

  And what have we done wrong

  But hold hands in the parking lot?

  When your mother honked

  We jumped,

  And our hands jumped like fish.

  You lifted your backpack, the weight of history

  And algebra, and hurried to her,