by Ellen Hagan
cherries & sweet juice.
Another birthday cake
& more candles. Mom
invites her coworkers
& Mamaw invites hers
too. Along with a special
someone she thinks
Mom will like. The house
full & smelling like sautéed
onions & garlic all day.
Mariella & StaceyAnn
want all the scoop. Say
I better be there for them
at StaceyAnn’s birthday
at the roller-skating rink.
Join Mamaw in giving thanks,
say a silent one for friends
who love me
exactly the way I am.
Mamaw Dancing Was So Beautiful
It near made me cry. & I would have.
Had there not been a whole Friendsgiving
crowd staring & standing in her sway.
She was all casual & catapult.
Smooth & shoulders.
Sunset & banjo.
Hips & hilltops.
With everyone watching. Eyes
wide. She reached out to me.
& I went ahead & joined her.
Twirling & bumping. Shaking
& erasing all the ideas other folks
might’ve had of me & us & all
I was & am capable of. Yeah,
I went ahead & shook
till I couldn’t shake
no more.
What Money Can’t Buy
Feeling this full.
A cool November night,
singing songs together,
porch sitting, still holding hands.
All of us & a bonfire in the yard.
S’mores soon or something
to satisfy sweet teeth.
My mom’s voice lifting
me right up.
The garden still alive,
not quite frozen over
just yet. The earth
& the people
who love me
still beating
& pulsing
around me.
Reasons Mariella & StaceyAnn Are Forever Friends
In first grade, I wet my pants in the bathroom.
Mariella found me crying & rushed to ask for help.
She brought a change of clothes & stayed with me
talking me down from my elementary school panic
& never told one other person about it.
In third grade, Joey Blane said his dad knew my dad
& said my dad was a good-for-nothing. I knew enough
to cry & tell the teacher, who said she couldn’t prove it.
StaceyAnn believed me anyway & socked him in the jaw.
She got a week’s detention from recess. I sat inside
with her every single day.
In fourth grade, we perfected our dance routine to every
single Beyoncé song. Entrances & exits. We recorded
our future YouTube videos—gave ourselves new names.
I was Crystal, StaceyAnn was Rebel,
& Mariella was Queen.
In fifth grade, we wrote a zine called: Country Stories
& wrote down all the tallest tales
we’d heard from family.
We put on a production of: Bardstown Secrets
& pretended we lived in a ghost town. Set up scavenger
hunts, built whole cities with dolls & blocks.
Spent all our days together.
In sixth grade, we crowned ourselves the Social Misfits.
Then it didn’t matter who liked who & who had a crush
on who. What mattered was making each other laugh,
the best food from the best garden,
Mariella’s family’s restaurant,
StaceyAnn’s dad’s dirt bike.
Our families & the ways they all held us.
What matters now is I get it. Know the truth
& how to hold friends as close as possible.
As long as possible.
Girls Are Bad Drivers—Part I
“No way,” I say, my mouth
full of pepperoni pizza.
“You should see my mamaw.
The way she takes corners
& hills, she …” I look up,
see everyone watching me.
On the inside, the conversation goes something like this:
What is wrong with you, Beatrice Miller?!
Did you just bring up your granny
in a conversation at StaceyAnn’s
birthday party
when everyone else is steady drinking soda
& being normal everyday seventh graders?
Are you bonkers? Did you just brag
about the way your mamaw takes corners?!
AHHHHHHHHHHH!
Silence.
On the outside:
“Oh, I just mean, uh, she’s
really fast is all. And, uh, a really
great driver. That’s all I meant.
Like, she could beat you in a race.”
Inside: Why are you still talking?
Shut up, Beatrice. Seriously.
Outside: “Also, that’s a total stereotype
to say that all girls are bad drivers.
& it’s not true. At all. Fact is my mamaw
could beat you at any race.”
Inside: NOOOOOOO!!!!!
Lucas starts laughing, says,
“I’d beat your granny any ol’
day. And I’ve been in the car
with my mom & my sister
& my grandma. What I said
is true. Girls Are Bad Drivers.”
Prove It
StaceyAnn says. She’s listening
in behind me. Fired up for sure.
She’s been go-karting
& motorbiking & tractor-ing
since she was nine & cruising
on the back of motorcycles
with her dad & her mom.
Not scared of any highway
or back road. If I was in trouble,
I’d all the time want StaceyAnn
riding along beside me.
& she beats us all at Grand Prix.
Swears her mom said she’d teach
her in the school parking lot
after the eighth grade. “A woman
should know how to drive
a stick shift & an automatic,”
she’s all the time saying.
So I know a good challenge
when I see one. & I know that Lucas
(who was only invited
because StaceyAnn’s mom
insisted they invite the whole class)
is going down.
Girls Are Bad Drivers—Part II
Lucas says it again
right before StaceyAnn
CRUSHES
his score at Grand Prix Legends.
It’s easily
the sweetest defeat
I’ve ever seen.
We all whoop & shout.
I’m not positive
but I think Rodney yells loudest.
My snow cone nearly flips
out of my hand, & Mariella
skates straight out on the rink,
raises her arms to the disco ball,
& shouts, “YEAHHHHHHH.”
She knows a win when she sees one.
The DJ (also our gym teacher)
plays “Last Night a DJ Saved My Life”
by Indeep & we know this
because he keeps shouting
the lyrics into the microphone.
StaceyAnn pulls back & hugs me
around the neck. “I won,”
she whispers. “She won!” I shout,
smiling hard at Lucas.
He kicks the machine & it sings,
“W-w-w-WIPE OUT!”
As if on cue, as if the whole
roller-skating rink
is in on the joke.
He sulks down low
in his chair. Tries to say
“do-over,” but no one
hears him over our voices
all rising up over him
& his old-fashioned
ideas.
Berry Teaches Us Self-Love & Worth—Lesson One Trillion
She
tells us:
write our dreams
vision future
selves & how to soar
take it seriously
never underestimate you
& all you’re capable of now
they’ll try & tell you girls don’t know how
change their perceptions just by showing up
Shift the way they see you, show yourself off
pride is only ugly if you’re lost
or bragging out of turn; you’re not
show them the Beatrice I see
the one you keep hiding
one you’ve stowed away
scared of yourself
don’t let them
define
you
Beatrice Miller’s Abecedarian
Always
Believing
Crying
Dreaming
Every
Fantasy
Gargantuan
Hypnotizing
Inspiring
Jarring
Kaleidoscope
Laughable
Magic
Natural
Obsessive
Perfectionist
Quirky
Rambunctious
Soaring
Talkative
Understanding
Verse
Wacky
Xenodochial
Young
Zany
Winter on Its Way
Rain
won’t stop,
pours endless
from above, makes
me hold all my breath
& count every minute
& replay every second.
All of me is crying inside,
feels so much like outside, I open
my windows & put my face to the sky.
Mamaw Says
Walking empties your brain,
so we keep at it. Sometimes
with weights on both ankles
& two-pounders in our palms.
She keeps up a speed
that has me huffing & puffing.
“Pump those legs, Beatrice.
Work those biceps.
Use that core.
A good heart
is one that lasts
& keeps on ticking
& tick-tick-ticking.”
Know she’s thinking
of Papaw & how his heart
gave on out. Up & stopped
on her & us.
We hoof it on straight
through the cemetery,
kiss our palms & offer
our own healthy hearts
& lungs. “Gotta remember
even when they’re gone,”
she says. Then: “Pick up
the pace.” Circle the block,
school parking lot. She loves
to run laps around town,
then the football field
& up & down the bleachers.
If you think grandmas
are old & lazy,
then you definitely haven’t met mine.
She teases me while doing squats.
Pumps her arms in victory.
Laps me & giggles.
After a while, I let her.
Tell her I need a water break.
Lean back on the bottom bleacher
& feel the almost winter sun
wash over my face.
When I open my eyes,
I see Rodney Murphy
looking right back at me.
& changing the whole
shape of my day.
What’s Up
Rodney says, shading his eyes with his palm.
I’m still breathing harder than I should be.
He looks up to the top of the bleachers,
Kentucky’s sunshine reflecting back from his silver
sunglasses. I stay squinting up at him.
And you can’t miss Mamaw,
who’s wearing her neon-green biker pants
& exercise cape, which she assured me was in fashion
but I’m beginning to think
she just cut the arms off an old sweatshirt,
fanned it out in the back
& then extended the truth so’s I wouldn’t say anything.
She’s singing at the top of her lungs.
“I got a new attitude.” We both smile.
“So that’s your mamaw, huh?”
“Well, nobody else would claim her,” I say
& instantly feel guilty, even though I know
she’d laugh at that too.
I know Rodney is thinking about what Eliza said
& the word “crazy” is probably right at the top
of his tongue too, but he just looks at her
& then back at me.
Says, “I think ‘eccentric’ is a good word for her.”
“Yeah, me too,” I say.
“Also ‘wild’ and ‘unique’ and ‘super special’
and ‘one of a kind.’”
“Yeah,” he says,
“kind of like you.”
The Color of Tomatoes—
Is what I turn
when Rodney says this.
The petite ones we plant
in our side garden.
Ultimate red-faced,
I start to say “thank you”
but then hear footsteps
barreling down the middle.
“Is that Rodney?” she loud-whispers in my ear.
“I can hear you,” he says,
& they both laugh. What is happening?
“Mamaw, meet my friend Rodney.
Rodney, this is Mamaw, my grandma.”
“Who is sometimes mistaken
for Beatrice‘s sister and sometimes
mistaken for her great-grandma.
I am what you call a shape-shifter.”
“An original,” Rodney says,
& Mamaw & I both smile.
Mamaw says, “You know what
I could use after a good workout?
A cupcake,” she answers herself.
“And I know just the place.
Rodney? Join us?”
And That’s How We End Up
We help ice two dozen
double-chocolate cupcakes,
our gloved hands working
double-time at Baked
while Mamaw hums, turns
the radio up & bounces
from countertop to stove.
The kitchen smells so sweet,
I almost think I’ll pass out.
Can’t tell if it’s the sugar
or the way my heart
is bump, bump, bumping
in my chest. This falling
for someone. Is as much
a workout. As running
up all those steps. Feels
as good to me as all
that blood pumping,
arm raising, jumping-
jack doing & speed
walking combined.
The Walk Home
Rodney doesn’t hold my hand
but bumps into me twice, gentle
& easy. Says he’s sorry about score
sheets & Spin the Bottle. Says he’d love
to hang out sometime. Talk comic books
& ice cream flavors. He’d love to grow a garden,
something from the earth. At my doorway, I lean in,
surprising myself & Rodney both. Is this what
firecrackers feel like? My mouth is a field of strawberries.
It’s a tree swing flying to the clouds. Or clouds too full
to the bursting point of rain. Pouring.
I�
�m lit up—a skyline of some city I’ve never visited
or seen but can imagine. New York or Chicago.
That’s how I feel inside. Yes. That’s how I imagine
my heart feels inside too. Kissing for the first time,
a fresh, new magic.
When I Can’t Sleep—Episode 4,592
Walk
all night
through my mind
so cavernous
I nearly get lost
imagine myself whole
striding into school so cool
I nearly glide across the surface
people watch me & say, who’s that girl
did we just meet, is she new, what’s her name?
Can’t believe I’m the same Beatrice as old
like some new, shiny bold; I’m like gold
I shimmer when they look my way
don’t shy from their attention
I go on, soak it all in
let them praise the new me
when they ask, Beatrice?
I just say, yes
you missed me
the first
time.
Happy New Year
Mamaw whispers in my ear
& I actually believe it will be.
The three of us sit outside,
Mamaw, Mom & me,
the way it has always been.
We let all the stars & all the sky shine
& all the dust of the earth
& all the planets
& all the matter
& all that matters
watch over us.
Atmosphere & design—however life
decides to unfold. Mom is home
for tonight. Cradling & holding us.
We have already devoured her lentil soup,
loaded with sweet carrots & potatoes,
lemon meringue pie piled tall as a tower.
We’ve already laid out all our crystals
& written our wishes on tiny slivers
of paper, burying them deep into the soil
for next year. Mamaw’s got so many sayings,
sometimes I can’t hardly keep them straight
in my brain.
But I’ve got the feeling this one’s
going to stick with me.
She says, “You’ve got to nurture and tend