7 or 8 Things I Know About Her
(a poem inspired by Michael Ondaatje's "7 or 8 Things I Know About Her" poem, written for class and myself)
The Dress
She has a sequined mini green dress she wears every other
weekend. Sparkling grape juice in hand (or so she promises), she needs to jump
to the beat in her boots to keep warm and feel like a mirror ball reflecting only
green light. Like she’ll never have enough dance partners and as long as they’re
her friends. A cute boy could dance next to her and is only allowed to hold her
hands.
Ghost
11:30 PM when she was 13 and watching her favorite American
detective show, she and I heard footsteps. We turned around and it was father
in white pajamas crossing the shrine and opening the guest room, but not before
turning around and telling us: “How many minutes left until you finish your
show? It’s very late. Make sure you both sleep soon.” He disappears into the
guest room, closes the door, and never leaves it.
We later finished the show. She had the urge to check the
main bedroom, but father was in red pajamas next to mother. Fast asleep.
The Buddhist Fortune-Teller
The monk told her she’d get married at 29 or 30. Have one
girl and one boy. Without her asking one question, he already knew what she
wanted to know. That she needs to forget her ex and focus on being the sexy,
juicy, independent woman that she is. She believes in all fortune-tellers who
do it for free.
Shooting
Since 14, she’s always accepted the gun when father asked if
she wanted to shoot a bullet one step away from their front porch. All the major
holidays, it’s her hands that do it. She’d look past father and grin at me, checking
if I’d want to hold the gun together. I always said no and covered my ears.
“More for me then,” while she grabs her thickest headphones
and gloves, visibly shaking.
Dark
She is deathly afraid of the dark, racing to bed and diving
under the thickest blanket, covering all her toes, once she’s turned off the
last light. It always takes her longer to sleep if she sleeps alone. That’s why
she sleeps with me, and I sleep with her.
Bike
She skinned raw four of her knuckles while biking to pick me up from the bus stop since father couldn’t make it. She blames it on how scary the big Texas trucks were behind her and to get off the road, she climbed a little ledge and toppled on her knuckles. She biked to me bleeding. Grimacing. Maybe with a bit of blame but smiling when she saw no one kidnapped me.
Fantasies
I think she wants a hot prince more than she wants me. Every
time she’s infatuated with a new boy, I could only hold a conversation with her
if it’s about her new guy or if I’m so sad I’m crying for her attention again. I
wonder if I could hold her attention at all when we’re far apart. When our
paths don’t meet anymore.
I hope she will always see me as her best friend.
Last Night
Two weeks since we last called so we had to call. College
keeps her busy. I’m updating her how our dog and parents are doing. I’m telling
her about how college has been for me. How it’s everything like she said it’d
be. How right she is about guys talking too much in class, getting a bike for
campus, and always keeping an umbrella in case it rained or was too sunny but
also, yes, it seems all my best guy friends are gay for some reason.
“But I hope I’m still your best friend,” she says.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
My blog has become more of a poetry portfolio lately??
They're easy and beautiful to write. ^-^ But this poem, I wrote from my sister's perspective of me. I've never been the perfect sister but I'm so happy to call her mine. My little sister. <3 and of course, I added a tall tale or two for fun, but you'd never know which. :)
Let's all make up tales of ourselves shall we? It's more fun that way.
Re-edited 10.20.22. because my professor was right -- I kept changing verb tenses too. :P
