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Just One of Those Things
Sarah Perrier
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eBook - ePub
Just One of Those Things
Sarah Perrier
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"Like Cole Porter, Sarah Perrier turns a world-weary and tender gaze toward the unruly carnival we call love. Perrier shrugs off the post-modern shrugs. In these elegant, wise-cracking, and subversive poems, the inherent estrangement, deception, and screwball comedy of romance is revealed and savored. With the smarts and prescience of Lear's fool, with the mischief of both Ariel and Caliban, she gene-slices the comic into the tragic, the tragic into the comic, to make a new and radiantly original poetry." âEric Pankey
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Sujet
LiteratureSous-sujet
PoetryFRESH
I.
When Kevin Millerâs mother called me fresh
before swaying up her driveway I didnât know
her New Jersey twang was from New Jersey
or that when she called me
fresh she meant to make me
sorrier than her son was for the game
he started with kisses. I ran after him
until his wrist was fast in my grip
and his belly was flat in the dirt. The soft
pop of his skin beneath my teeth
is still as fresh as the sting in my mouth
where I stretched it sore at the corners.
His mother stopped in her tracks when I spat
the missing bit of his dirty cotton shirt at her heels
and she spat back with fresh. Suppose his response
had been that sharp. Suppose my kneecaps
hadnât cracked two of his twiggy ribs
and left him forgetting how to handle
his next breath. Suppose he had been
heels-dug-in stubborn and refused to run.
The messages our bodies send us
and deliver us fromâquick as currents
running to groundâsnap and arc
under the force of our telling (the synapse
filters flash and the story is recast):
If he hadnât run away, he could have won.
And now if the knot of his scar could untie itself
and slip back into skin, it would only be
one more thing he left behind
when I watched his mother load half
a houseful of her, her wisdom
and her furniture, onto a truck
and head back to New Jersey.
II.
Before he began, the dentist shook
his thumb over his right shoulder, asked me
if I âwanted one like that.â Kevin Miller
was long gone, and my trophyâmy chipped
incisor was filed smooth. By summer, I learned
to throw out a hip and to carry a comb.
I hung out at the corner of Rollerskate
and Ten Speed with a pack of cigarettes
I knew how to light but couldnât yet
smoke. On the corner
we played âTruthâ and let
the good lies slide until Nicole
Ryan dared Steve Swisher to a game,
then fired off a pack of lies.
Had she, or would she ever? Yeah.
With a boy? Yeah. With Brian
Wilburne? We were gonna but
he just had his braces tightened.
With a girl? No way, Steve.
Youâre the only queer I know.
And none of us said a word.
Then Megan, who knew about sins
of omission, heard her mother call, and Ruth,
who always played by the rules, said it was hers.
Then Ben and Adam Morgan rode off
without a word. Nicole spat out...