boogeywoman
what are you afraid of, annette,
he says
and i know his eyes are blue and gold and soft but i am not looking.
i am looking at a tiny hole in my pants leg
and at myself
very small
and very sad
and well outside of her words,
standing outside a car that’s being packed full of boxes
again
again
wondering why we never stay
why can’t we stay
and i know what i am afraid of
exactly what i am afraid of
but i will not tell you now.
the words stay in my mouth,
almost-sweet,
like the smell of smoke in cotton.
i am afraid
i’m in that old familiar fitting room
and this armful of good ideas
which so thoroughly tempted my imagination
won’t stand up to the harsh light and the mirror
won’t button over the growing swell of my expectations
and i’ll have to hand it all back to the brittle-smiling salesgirl
(did anything work out for you today
i’m afraid not)
i am afraid
of the willful children
of my yesses
and my nos
running screaming through my house
while i slump over the kitchen table, pressing my temples with my palms
GET BACK HERE
PUT THAT DOWN
STOP IT NOW
WOULD YOU PLEASE
they would not please
they use my voice to make wild proclamations to the neighbors
they take my hand to sign the papers
they check my luggage and they put me on the plane
and i’m afraid of their next
AMAZING
idea
i am afraid
of the sound of sand through the tight waist of an hourglass
because nothing ever stays
and little-girl-me still wonders, with balled-up fists
if maybe she could make it so.
but she knows she’ll get into the car
and force herself to look through the windshield
and not the back glass
i am not afraid you’ll leave.
i am only in suspense.
(everybody leaves everybody eventually
my grandmother left my grandfather
after 68 years
suddenly, in the kitchen, with a gasp standing in for goodbye)
what am afraid of, puppy,
mostly
is annette.
