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Monday, April 9, 2018

Nine-ish

so in her is a volleyball     to notplay     to loft not over nets catching nothing     already caught     it sags in the center as I sag     she is taut as ever     where the notchild grows     I ask her does she have a story in her     one big story and a score of smaller ones     laughter     she shows me how her diaper works    the story: there is a notrewind button     pushed     so no instant slow-mo hi-def replay of her insane technique     ballet     we watch as she notvaults up into the air for masterful spike or deceptive lob or serve placed into infinity     this is a runaway game     the team of us drop crying into the sand     where crying belongs     this is notbaseball     that was months ago     and before that golf or ping-pong-sized or billiards even      not a gentleman’s wager     only us girls stationed at every pocket     waiting to snatch her scratches     back before the break     all our money was on the table      when had she ever notwon?     the notfair thing was only how loved she was     how she deserved the world and everything in it     how impossible it will be to count the leftover tiles     calculate loss     how nottheworld’s she’s going to be     how the world can only subtract from itself     overturning all boards          I’ll tell you something else     you gameboys with your cuesticks and your scrabblefingers     there is notsuch     notsuch a thing     there is no such thing as a good leave     only a beautiful going

1 comment:

Radish King said...

I have read this four times and each time it peels another layer from me nots and knots.
Rebecca