—IT’S A LITTLE BIT FUNNY

 

Personal History

 

I was trying to reconcile what she said 

with the way she kissed me.

I was nine and all I had—

time and fear—hung on the bedroom 

walls by my Pocahontas clock.

Down the hall, people laughed or 

bumped glass while cigarette smoke 

seeped under my door like genies who 

grant wishes, make magic or balloon animals. 

She tapped six times ta-da ta-da ta-da, 

I remember that because I thought, 

I’m saved this time. Magic is true. 

She said, “Scoot over, Scaredy-cat” 

and breathed sour on me.

 

At dinner, when my wife asks, 

“What‘re you spacing about this time?” 

I’m trying to reconcile what my aunt said 

with how she kissed me, using her tongue, 

a lit cigarette in her hand, the red of the ash, 

crooked shadows bouncing off 

of Pocahantas’s cheek.