Chapbook Poem 1

I'm writing a chapbook with my friend Monica for workshop, which means we write poems back and forth until we arrive at something of a collection or conversation. I won't be able to post the whole thing, just snippets here and there. Here's the first poem I sent to her.

A girl standing on a riverbank. This is how

it always begins for me, has to begin. Today

she doesn't know what to do with her hands.

There's so much water, so much washing to be done.

It would be easier to wear all the dirty clothes

at once and wade straight in. It would be easier

to erase everything between thirteen

and sixteen. And canoe away from all this.

The day I learned how to lie without blushing,

the other girls at the lunch table were spelling out

swear words in broken pretzels. Keep a straight face

and you can get through anything.

Wear a high collar so the red on your chest

doesn't show through. This

is what I'd tell my daughter, if I had one.

To you I can only say that there are two ways to die,

too much water or not enough, and you

don't get to pick which one. You can wash and wash

and still be drained from the neck with one slice.

You can wander through the streets at night, lonely

from loss and know a river in Egypt

is more like home than this will ever be.

Swallow these words like you would a pill.

Don't let yourself be consoled.