Cost of Our Baggage: A Gnashing Teeth Publishing Anthology
(September 2024)
On the night I had hot dogs and baked beans for dinner
it was your birthday, little sister.
You got a new bike, sheened
in lustful boysenberry, tassels
hanging from sky-high handlebars
and I was jealous. You let me
boss you when we played, change
the channel, best you always.
That night I staged a race, hurried
you through supper, hot dogs
and baked beans —I ate two,
had to outdo you. Riding
in the breeze, your blonde
locks waving, my pixie stuck
to my forehead in the humidity.
You were ahead and I turned
my front wheel into your rear.
You fell, of course,
like I wanted you to.
The baby blue Volkswagen couldn’t
stop, burning rubber, skid marks
on the pavement. A leg of plaster
and five stitches on your tender
face. For that hot July summer,
your pedaling days were done.
And you knew it was me
but you never told.
Last day of school before winter break
The box is wrapped in virgin white tissue,
lipstick-red ribbon trailing on top. Here,
he says, Merry Christmas! handing it to me
as I hop off the bus. He rears his chin,
tosses his hair back into place and runs
toward a group of boys swirled in smirks
and shouts, doesn’t look back. Leaves me
standing in the swoon of holding hands
at the movies, roller skating, Nerfball.
The gift in my grip, proof he likes me back.
In the pink-walled solitude of my bedroom,
clusters of jade whisper to me, and I am
as bright and alive as the crimson ribbon
that contains the promise of a daring me.
Who will not watch from shore next summer
as waves roll the brave girls into its coil,
catching the eye of laughing boys who swim
nearby. On the gift tag is the name
I have secreted into notebooks. I want
this gift unwrapped. Protecting the layers,
I leave no rips, no tears. Inside,
a dog bone. Dull brown and bowed.
The slow creep of my shame places the box
under a canopy bed, a wreathed screen
of dark, shadowed by gloating paper.
Until Christmas Day. On its maiden voyage,
I fly to boy’s house on the sparkled banana
seat of my gold and purple bicycle, deck
the box onto his front lawn. There. I am
a bright color after all.
Susan Kolon 