by Ellen Hagan
Watch out.
Unstoppable.
Medley Relay
We get ready. StaceyAnn is first
because her backstroke is fastest.
She starts in the water. Goggles on.
Fiery & fierce. Mariella next. Flying
with her breaststroke. Pushing through.
Zoey is our butterflyer. Her limbs
leaping through the water. I’m the anchor.
Waiting at the other end to be tagged.
Always have been. Always will be.
Coach says I’m the best freestyler,
& I take the compliment.
Nerves are popping in all directions.
Heart moving double-time. Breath short.
The Wave Runners look tough & speedy.
Giving us side-eyes, hands on their hips.
They are not scared of us. That is certain.
The Whistle Blows
We’re off!
StaceyAnn plunges back.
Her arms a riptide.
We holler.
“Go, go, go!”
Jumping up & down.
Following her ripple
making the pool an ocean.
She tags the side.
Mariella dives up, then under,
up, breath, stroke;
she’s all fish tonight.
“We’re beating them!” I shout.
Zoey swoops in after.
Her shoulders small but powerful,
breaking the surface.
I can see we’re in the lead.
Shake my stress.
Close my eyes.
Thankful for this.
A second of breathing,
when Zoey hits the side,
I burst through.
My arms a wild charge.
I can hear Mom & Mamaw
cheering me on.
Mamaw’s whistle
rings through the crowd,
& Mom yells:
“Goooooo, Beatrice, goooooo!”
So I do.
Uncontrollable.
Unstoppable.
Just exactly
like I imagined.
We Win
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” StaceyAnn shouts,
perfecting her favorite dance moves on the sideline.
I know it’s not nice to brag,
but I can’t help it as I whoop & holler right alongside.
Mariella & I go in for our handshake.
High-five, turn around, dip low, shake,
twirl around, spin, slide, bring it back.
StaceyAnn tackles us so that we all tumble
splashing into the deep end of the pool.
Coach tells us we’re up for the ribbon ceremony,
so we stand together. All of us still soaked.
Our hometown crowd cheers
while they crown us county champions
& hand out smooth, shiny ribbons
with #1 printed in shimmering gold.
Dinner on Us
Mariella’s folks announce.
We dry off, hit the locker room to change
& all end up on the picnic tables at the playground.
Outside the city pool, the sky is just starting
to go dark.
Mariella, StaceyAnn, Zoey & I share a table,
the sun still lasting on our skin.
My mom & mamaw sit at a table with the grown folks.
Mariella’s mom pulls out all our favorites:
chips & their homemade salsa with jalapeños
& roasted tomatoes. Corn on the cob wrapped in foil
with mayonnaise, cayenne & cotija cheese.
Handmade tortillas with pork carnitas.
Mamaw pulls bottles of Coca-Cola from her small cooler
& a jar of her special Kentucky Benedictine Dip
loaded with garden cucumbers, onion, sour cream,
cream cheese & cayenne too. It’s a Southern standby
that she spreads on a few tacos.
She calls it “country-fied Mexican” & everyone tries it.
I love the way we all mix & blend cultures & flavors.
StaceyAnn’s dad plays music from the back of his truck,
& we stand on top of the monkey bars, swing
until we’re silly, push each other on the merry-go-round,
& laugh & laugh, replaying our star turns
underneath the water.
As the sun finally dips into the earth,
we start to howl & shriek,
giddy on the sugar & caffeine,
still on a winner’s high.
At the Playground
We all pile our legs together as we spin
on the merry-go-round.
Zoey gasps when she sees my legs.
“Okay, seriously, Beatrice, your legs
look just like Dotty, my schnauzer.
“Wow,” she says again, eyeing them close.
“What?” I ask, looking down at my legs
& comparing them to StaceyAnn’s & Mariella’s.
StaceyAnn doesn’t shave, but her hair is baby fine,
but Mariella does (did? when?), since her legs
are silky smooth.
“Shut up,” StaceyAnn says.
“But they’re soooo hairy!” Zoey says again.
(Reminder: Zoey is eleven …
but she might as well be seventeen.
The way she acts & talks—is just plain teenage.)
“Besides, if you shave your legs, you swim faster,”
she says, running a hand along her own.
What? I am thinking. An eleven-year-old shaves her legs
& I’m stuck looking like a beast. Whyyyyy?!
StaceyAnn says, “That’s not true, ’cause Beatrice
is the fastest swimmer on our team.
Besides, no one cares if you shave your legs or not.”
“They will when you get to school,” Zoey says.
“My older sister says: the hairier the legs,
the weirder the kid.” She starts to laugh wicked
& we know she’s joking, but I can’t help but feel
like she might be right.
Seriously
“Don’t listen to her,” StaceyAnn says
as Zoey gives us all air-kisses
& heads home with her family.
“She’s just a kid.”
“That’s how I feel,” I say,
embarrassed, looking at my hairy legs.
“I haven’t even started my period,”
I whisper as the merry-go-round
starts to slow all the way down.
“Don’t worry—it’s definitely
not a big deal,” Mariella says.
“That’s because you already got yours,
and I don’t even need to wear a bra,”
I say, leaning back & looking at the sky,
the stars exploding all above me.
“That sucks too,” StaceyAnn says.
“Just be thankful
you don’t have to think about it yet.”
And I know, they’re trying their best
to just make me feel better. Enough.
But when Mariella kicks the ground
to pick up the pace, I feel like they’re moving
at lightning speed. And I’m just trying
to hold on.
Time to Go
Mom announces when it’s clear she’s had enough
of our wildness. “It’s getting late. Time to head home.”
“Lisa, come on, give ’em a little more time.
It’s not every day four young women are crowned
county champions,” Mamaw shouts,
& the three of us get to howling,
sounding just like wolves in the night.
“Please, Mom, just ten more minutes?” I beg.
Mom gives me The Look.
The one that says:
Enough
I’m tired
Y
ou’re pushing it
It’s time to go
Don’t make me lose my temper.
It’s amazing all the things my mom can say
with just one look.
“Besides, you girls need to start getting ready for school,
going to bed earlier. Come on now.”
“Oh, Lisa, come on. Live a little,” Mamaw says,
& I can see she’s already pushing it too far.
“It’s time,” my mom says, & we know she means business.
Mamaw and I let out long sighs, give hugs all around,
& pile into the car.
“Could you two get in my court at least once
this summer? Please,”
my mom says, eyeing Mamaw and me.
“I just want you to have a little fun,” Mamaw says.
“Let your hair down. Take it easy.”
“I am having plenty of fun. All the fun. The most fun,”
my mom says, clearly not having any fun at all.
She turns the radio on
& all we hear is static.
At Home
Mom & Mamaw get into it on the porch.
They tell me to shower all that chlorine off,
but I wait & listen outside the door.
The benefit of our house being so old & so small
is that you can hear everything if you try hard enough.
“Bea, I need you to get behind me on my decisions.
I feel like I’m always the bad one, & I can’t live like this.”
“Lisa, I hear you. I do, but you gotta go easy on her.
She’s a great kid—the best. You’ve gotta let her stay a kid
for as long as possible.”
“She’s about to be in the seventh grade, Bea.
She’s not a kid anymore. She’s a young woman.
She needs to start acting like it. Grow up a little.
Stop acting so wild.”
There is a pause and a silence so long, it seems like
they might know I’m steady listening.
But then I hear Mamaw’s voice ask this question:
“Why would you want her to stop being so free?”
The Bathroom Mirror
That night, right before I shower,
I take all my clothes off & stand
steady & strong. Look at myself
in front of the full-length mirror.
Flat as a board. Thin. Too skinny.
Beanpole. Would all describe me.
Fluffy hair. Not tall enough. Not
curvy enough. Not woman enough.
Too hairy. Too awkward. Too out
of place. Too out of this world.
Too wild. Too babyish. Too kid-like.
I let out a quiet howl. Turn around,
look from side to side. Try to love
all of me the way I am.
When I Can’t Sleep
I rummage through my mind.
Want to know the way other eyes
will see me. If they will think
I am enough. Just on my own.
& because it’s late enough
& dark enough & quiet enough
& I’m alone enough,
I get to thinking
what summer has been like
for the boys in my class,
the ones I like,
the ones who are funny
& silly
& goofy.
& the ones I don’t like,
the ones who are rude
& mean
& annoying.
Mostly, I am thinking of Rodney again,
who sat beside me in homeroom last year
& told me he wished he could be a superhero
when he grows up.
Of course, he was kidding,
but deep down
I wish I could be one too.
& I wonder most of all
if superpowers exist
& if they do,
what ours will be
when seventh grade begins.
Sunburn Sunday
“It’s high time we take the kayak out,”
Mamaw says as soon as I wake up.
“Kentucky rivers are a surefire way
to get your brain straight.”
We pack up the car together & drive.
Mom says she has to catch up at home,
but I think she just wants a break from us.
Mamaw rolls all our windows down
& plays the Carolina Chocolate Drops.
Turns the volume up all the way
until we reach the water.
“Sometimes you gotta trade chlorine
for fresh water. Clears the head,” she says.
Paddle
Paddle, paddle
Paddle, paddle, paddle
Paddle, paddle, paddle, paddle.
Breathe nature, air, water
& what lives below the surface.
Wake earlier, work harder, care
for it, nurture & navigate how to love.
Mamaw says swimming in the river
can take all your cares away.
& jackknifing straight down to the bottom
was all they got round to doing in the summer
when they were kids. All snakes & crawdads.
Mom thinks rivers are filthy & says so.
She was a city kid. Grew up fast
in big-time Louisville. She thinks diseases
& snakebites are more likely what I’ll find,
& part of me thinks she’s right. Mud caked
between my toes & murky clouds below.
But more of me wants to take the risk. Dive
beyond the shallow. Go deep & submerge.
Mamaw says I’ve got to become one
with the water. Grow a tail & fins.
Become part fish. Pretend to know
exactly what I’m doing.
Out on the Water
Surrounded by sky,
so much of life feels
possible. Like anything
could happen at any moment.
I am who I am because of
river water & trout, air & sunshine.
We kayak from one end
of the river to the other
& land on the shallow shore.
Mamaw calls the orders:
“Switch, dig deep, switch,
dig deeper.” We sun bake
& lay our paddles aside.
Let the breeze buoy us.
It’s the end of a summer
I wish could last forever.
Sometimes I feel like
I should be running
all the races
doing all the things
hurry up & get there
go ahead & get my life started
& shave my legs
& get a boyfriend
& get boobs
& feel pretty enough
feel enough
enough
that I’ll stop wanting
so much of the time.
& sometimes I just feel
like now. Like still. No
wind & rush or beat
the clock. Just exactly
right where I need to be.
When Mamaw says, “Slow
it all the way down,”
finally I do. Take a big
gulp of breath. & let it
all
out.
Mamaw’s Lifestyle
“Is lean, mean & clean,” she always says,
bucking trends of nicotine from her days
& of course alcohol & e-cigarettes & any ol’
substance that can change or shift a day
lickety-split. Always says her daddy liked
the liquor best. It being Bardstown and all.
Bourbon Capital of the World. How most
of them men made their money. Distilling
& all. Corn to sour mash to downright drunk.
Says it takes a who
le lotta willpower
to stay steady in the right here & now.
And when she says, “I get high on life,” & giggles
with her silver-wicked laugh, I kind of believe her.
In a yoga headstand, she shrieks when blood
rushes from tips of her toes to top of her brain
& sings “Hallelujah” when a recipe tastes exactly
the way it promises to. Tongue to taste buds.
Says she saw a whole mess of hurt coming up
& didn’t want it re-created in front of me. Life
is finest alert & alive. Don’t want your mind
messed with or amplified. Says living right
can be the highest of highs right up to the sky.
Summer for Dinner
I.
Mamaw shouts from the garden, her voice
drifting through my open window. I race
down the stairs, grab her favorite bowl
& send the screen door sailing. Kneeling
together, we gather ears of corn huddled
close inside their husks. Make a mile-high pile.
“Now the tomatoes,” she says. Pulling straight
from the vine. They smell of earth & dirt. We
sniff their flavor. Mamaw holds them to her
apron. Like vegetable babies—we pat & caress,
brush the muck from their crimson skins. She
holds the smallest out to me & I take a bite,
the juice rolling down my chin. Savory & sweet
at the exact same time. Can August last forever?
II.
Turn on the stove & get that water boiling. Salt
& one tablespoon of whole milk. Secret recipes
are Mamaw’s specialty. But she knows I can keep