Girls

street-worth of neon just before west Hollywood,

splayed two-dimension with baby skin and maraschino cherries

which

our bus drove past 180 mornings a year, as the fastest way to school

where we laugh at Sex: in the dictionary n draw GIRLSGIRLSGIRLS

that are all circles, too, rather than elbows and tissue like us

like us pants and skirt at the same time us

at home, teeter in our older sisters’ high heels, the kind she has to walk

2 blocks away before wearing, hickeyed with sidewalk, hickeyed with chalk

we saw the signs more than anything else n do not know what the names mean yet

except that none of us can bend like that yet

we chew gum n make sure the boys see we can swallow it it

will stay with us longer

we found a balloon in the soccer field damp as a milk carton

Jewish Geography as According to Aunt L

Of course I know. Ask me anything. My

home planet dangles off a branch beyond

the canopy. Crack it open and each

mouth swallows the word for sky and heaven

both. Call my name and half the women at

the party turn around. Turn the map facedown,

now it’s a tablecloth. Here is a park

bench where your grandfather once had stopped to

double-knot up his shoes. Here is someone’s

cousin spinning with spread arms, ruby juice

dry on her chin. You will find in some towns

dinner and an argument and people

sneezing with their full bodies. New Year’s cards

sent through this country of sudden noises,

like stones lining a garden path, like a

marble staircase worn down in the middle

until each step is a cupped hand also.

My home planet, you can fit in your pocket.

We move, we move, atoms rock back and forth

in place, in prayer, light after light becomes

honey on the skin, rose petals thick as ash, scattered

on a river. Where you touch, sweetness, wheels

of fire. The front door of the temple

laughs open. Next week, a wedding. Who’s dead?