If God was meting judgment
I wonder
What would he have in store
For me?
BROKEN BOY: PART ONE
He bounces a basketball
His tie loosened
Torn shirt untucked
As mourners trail into his house
He doesn’t shoot for the hoop
Or respond to people
Who try to say hello
He bounces a basketball
Like the beating of a heart
One-handed, rhythmic
One player short for one-on-one
He doesn’t shoot for the hoop
That effort would require
Raising his head to see
The front door open and close
Like the beating of a heart
He sees me and drops the ball
As he disappears inside
He doesn’t speak, lacking the will
That effort would require.
WHAT I DESERVE
So you’re the shiksa
An ancient woman says to me.
Bubbe! someone says
In a scandalized tone
But the old lady is unchastened.
I’m Ella, I say
I’m a friend of David’s.
A little more than a friend
To hear him tell it
Bubbe says with a sniff.
Men hide from pain
Like dying cats.
See if you can get him
To come out of his room.
BROKEN BOY: PART TWO
But I’m smart enough to know
David won’t be in his room
I find him on Michael’s bed
Where we laid him that day
Surrounded by towels
And watched him
Made hopeful by his promise
Not knowing what it meant.
That WAS the last time.
He doesn’t look at me
Just stares at the ceiling
I heard you haven’t been talking
I try a peace offering
I guess I can’t blame you
For not wanting to talk to me.
And he doesn’t
He just slides to one side
Inviting me to lie next to him
I move slowly
Take off your shoes, he snaps
I do and anticipate
Him enumerating what else
He wants me to take off
Which I would do
Right now I would peel
Off layers until there was nothing
Left of me but bones
A grinning skull on the pillow
Next to him.
I won’t share you with Samir
He says while I try to conceal
The minor freak-out I’m having
At the idea that this is even up
For discussion.
We broke up, I say
For good this time?
For good, for bad
Forever.
That’s over.
DAVID SPEAKS HIS MIND
I’m not a very assertive guy
But I’m going to try
This next year is going to be awful
I can’t screw up grade twelve
I want to get into a good school
For architecture
And I think it might be easier
With someone to…like…
Cheer me on.
I know you’re probably
Not the best person for that role
But the amount of bullshit
I would have to deal with
To find someone else is not worth it.
Wow, I don’t know what to say
I’m overwhelmed by your offer
It’s so romanti—
Shut up.
On any other day
I’d be telling you
I never want to see you again
But I haven’t slept in days
I’m exhausted, my throat
Feels raw from sobbing
Like a two-year-old
And right now all I want
To do is spoon you.
I roll onto my side
Obediently
And he curls into my back
My head tucked into his shoulder.
If this is love
He says into my hair
It really sucks.
MAYBE WE WILL MAKE IT
Because I listen to him cry quietly
For a few minutes before he moves back
Rolling me over to face him and
After I wipe away his tears he leans in and
Whispers something very naughty in my ear.
But later, he says
In a few weeks maybe
I’m too messed up right now
I think I would break into a million pieces.
Also, I don’t want to be that guy
Who is always begging for it
So if you don’t want to that’s fine
But you should tell me now.
I take a moment to process that
It seems a little clinical
Like washy wishy
Soft and squishy David
Has been replaced
By a more officious twin.
You won’t have to beg, I say.
Then he lets me kiss him
Like I’ve wanted to for months
Nothing tentative this time
About his lips and tongue
He slides my thigh
Over his hip and moves
One hand over my breast
Giving it an emphatic squeeze
Like a promise
His eyes close and that’s how
Holding on to my boob
Wrapped up in me
He drifts off to sleep.
As the day fades to night
Bubbe appears
A stout silhouette
Against the hall light
Humph, she says
And closes the door.
Chapter Eleven
Infinite
HIATUS
David says
We should have some time
Apart
He needs to work on forgiving me
But right now
He’s busy
Forgiving Michael.
You need to forgive me too, he says
For what? I almost say
But my throat burns
Tied in a knot with the anger
I still hold for him
The night in jail
The lawyer and
Panic, how I
Drowned in
Panic
That pours out of me
As tears.
See? I knew it, he says
You wouldn’t behave like that
Without a reason.
We hold each other
The words
I’m so sorry
Orbiting us and then
We give each other space
And time
Which after all
Are both
Infinite.
TEXTILE COLLAGE
I shred old jeans
A once-white towel
Now gray
A tattered pair of mittens
And snip and glue
Shaping, fluffing
Until a coyote’s paw
Pads quietly among
The oppressive hands.
A coyote’s paw
Is for standing
For grounding
I wonder, if we walked
On our hands
As animals do
Would the world feel more like
Something that supports us
Instead of something
We have to hold up?
BUSTED
Raphaelle!
Dad shouts up my stairs
Along with my middle name
AND last
name
That’s how I know
I’m in big trouble.
I had an interesting conversation
With one of my students
He begins
Oh shit, I think.
And he yells at me
For ten minutes
About smoking pot
With Kieran
And Mom joins us
And shares the news
That she found
A condom wrapper
Under my bed
And I’m about to get
So grounded I’ll practically be
Dead and buried.
And Dad says
Jesus Christ
Did you sleep with Kieran?!
And I say
No, I did not sleep with Kieran
It was Samir
Only Samir
But we broke up
So you don’t have to worry
About that anymore.
But they both keep yelling
Until even Kayli is telling them
Stop it! Stop it!
Can’t you see how upset she is?
And everyone stops
And sees.
TEARS
For my little meltdown
I get:
A hug from Kayli
A glass of water from Dad
And an interrogation from Mom.
Was that a panic attack?
I used to get them too
All through high school.
I would wake up
Unable to breathe.
Is it like that?
Are you eating?
You look thin
Are you throwing up?
Are you sleeping?
Do you want to try pills again?
And Dad
Who prefers an unmedicated life
Says, Maybe she could share a room
With Kayli again
She might sleep better.
And when Kayli hears this
Despite her earlier support
She screams until
She has an asthma attack
I’ve got to give it to her
She knows how to work a crowd.
So Dad says
My house, my rules
Stop being so selfish
Then Kayli says
Can’t she just find another boy
To keep her company?
And Dad says
Watch your mouth, young lady
Which makes her go crazy
Wheezing and screeching
So even though I’m grounded
And under observation
I just walk out.
I figure I’m seventeen
That’s old enough
To join the army
Right?
HEAT STROKE
No sunscreen
No sunglasses
No hat
Bare shoulders
All I have
Is a bus pass
Phone
Flip-flops
And five bucks
In the pocket of
My overalls.
I buy a Gatorade
And park my butt
Under a tree
By the lake
Thinking
I should have
Spent the whole
Summer here
Watching ducks.
And I mean
The WHOLE summer
Day and night
Twenty-four/seven.
DEADLY SERIOUS
As the air finally cools
My phone beeps
Samir:
I need to talk to you
Tonight
Can you meet me?
He gives an intersection
When I reach it
I realize it’s his mosque.
Samir stands
Rather formally dressed
Between the columns.
When I join him I see
His parents and sister
Standing nearby.
Samir turns to look at them
A beseeching look on his face
His father’s eyes narrow
And I begin to suspect
Some kind of intervention.
Look, I know this is—
Samir begins
But his father clears his throat
Rather forcefully.
And Samir snaps
Something back in Arabic
Obviously his father
Is unmoved.
Poor Samir
He’s still very cute
When he sulks.
Until he sighs
And says
Raphaelle, will you marry me?
COOL
And it takes all my
Self-control to breathe through the
Urge to laugh out loud.
PARENTS OF THE YEAR
But it goes on
Samir crosses his arms
And looks anywhere but at me.
You will have to convert
Samir says
But, well, will you?
He recites tonelessly
Like a bad actor
Will-you-convert-to-Islam-and-marry-me?
By now I have an idea
Of what’s going on
And I play along
Because poor Samir
Is as red as the setting sun.
No, I say.
I don’t think that’s a good idea.
Samir turns to his family
Happy?
How do you feel?
His mother says
And Samir answers
With a stream of Arabic
That makes his sister hide her smile.
In English, his father says.
Embarrassed, Samir says
Humiliated.
And?
And ashamed.
I feel
Ashamed.
His father looks satisfied
We’ll see you inside, he says.
RELIEVED
Would you have married me
If I’d said yes?
I suppose, Samir says to his feet.
You shouldn’t feel ashamed
We didn’t do anything wrong
We were careful, mostly
And we love each other
We loved each other
How can that be wrong?
If you fall in love
With another Muslim
Or any pious man
He might not want you
Because you’re not a virgin.
I’ll have to make sure
That doesn’t happen then
No more pious men for me
Anyway, you’re not
A virgin either.
It doesn’t work that way
He says, and I can almost taste
His bitterness
A Muslim girl only wants
To be respected
But now I’ll always want
What you let me have.
He turns his head away
So fast I wonder
For a moment
If I’ve slapped him
Or if he only expects me to
For showing me a side of him
He usually hides so well.
That’s a revolting thing to say
I tell him, measuring my voice
Like strong medicine
Don’t ever say that
To me or to any girl
Ever again
For any reason.
Samir falls silent
Still as the marble columns
And I’m tempted
To stomp away
End it with an exclamation mark
But I can see that he is crying.
Habibi, I say
Gently.
Don’t call me that, he says
Wiping his eyes
I don’t think you will ever be able
To see th
e world as I do.
I need to go pray.
As he turns I call after him
Samir!
You should tell your parents
About Ashraf’s wedding
They have a right to know.
He slips off his shoes at the door
Without looking back
And says, Maybe I will
MYSTERIOUS WAYS: PART ONE
The steps of the mosque
Are cool stone
And feel ancient
As I sit and watch
The dark curtain of night
Rise around me.
The chanting song from inside
Washes over me
Like clear water
And I hear the end
Of summer humming
Somewhere too
Just beyond my reach.
MYSTERIOUS WAYS: PART TWO
An old man sits down next to me
Do you have questions about Islam?
No, I say quickly
I’m just resting.
Rest is good, he says
I guess he must be some kind of priest
And he’s a good one
Because his quiet company eats at me
Until I can’t help but speak.
What does Islam say about someone
Who can’t seem to stop
Doing stupid, thoughtless things?
Who can’t stop thinking
About stuff that scares her?
Who keeps getting betrayed
By people she should know
Better than to trust?
Who might be hurting herself
Without even realizing?
The man turns to me
Islam would say
That person is probably a teenager
Then he gives me a cheeky smile
Or perhaps you are possessed by Djinn
Gin, I say. Like the drink?
Djinn, he says
Mischievous spirits.
The English word is—
I interrupt
I know, I say
The English word is Genie.
I can’t help it
I start to giggle.
THE SIDEWALK LESS TRAVELED
There are two ways back to my house
I could skirt the park and cross the footbridge by
The mansions with their water-sucking lawns
Grab the express bus to the coffee shop
And take a short walk up our street.
Or I could board the winding bus
And take a tour of familiar places
School, the spot where Samir and I ate baklava
And the ballpark where I howled at the moon
What difference would it make?
I choose the first way, the walk
Will do me good, the fresh night air
The quiet streets, excited crickets
Though the other route, to be honest
Probably involves as much walking.
One day I might look back and wonder
Why I took this way tonight of all nights
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