There’s a picture of me somewhere, in some
shoebox. I’m fifteen or sixteen, black and white,
cat glasses in a summer sleeveless dress waving
my fat arms for balance shin-deep in fast water.
(Another picture, of my brother, five or six,
in the same frigid creek: he’s all hunched over
with cold and trying not to be swept away.
Unfortunately looks like he’s peeing.)
We were in Gatlinburg. The dress was pale
yellow with a collar like a pilgrim’s white yoke,
huge in the wind. We, with our mama and hers,
stayed in a pine-walled cabin by another creek,
The nights were cold, and that was amazing. But then,
I was still to experience life in air conditioned rooms.