about how she looks,

but I don’t.

Lisa sings some song into the mirror,

lifting her hair out of the collar

of her new pink shirt.

She turns to her side,

poses with her chin lowered,

her blond hair

falling slightly over her eyes.

How do I look? she asks.

My body is burning.

I walk over to where she is,

and I stand near the mirror.

Smile.

This place, I think, was made for her.

Lisa looks toward the gate.

She looks back to me,

and her steady hands

land on my shoulders.

Thank you, she whispers.

For what? I ask, smiling.

But she doesn’t answer.

Maps

Pick comes later that day with his mom.

She wants to see the nursery.

We spend the afternoon

outside with a bucket of markers,

pastels, and old paints,

drawing maps for the game.

Pick loves to draw maps,

and Lisa draws in the borders.

Sometime in the afternoon,

we decide to make a map

of the gallery so we can

always remember.

See You July Fourth

That evening

Pick goes

home with his mom.

He has to start some kind of camp

in Sausalito for one week.

I promise to work on the game.

I’ll be back for the Fourth of July!

he says. Try to think

about the damage charts.

I promise I will.

I try, but I don’t think about them at all.

Not once.

The Walk

Lisa carries a backpack

that unfolds into a beach chair.

The effortless straps

curl around her shoulders,

push her chest out.

Her white shark-tooth necklace

falls down the center.

Her blond hair,

in a wavy drop

to the middle of her back,

pushes around

her blue bikini,

rainbow sandals

edging perfectly along

the beach path.

I am just behind her,

too slow

for her determined walk,

her mirrored aviator sunglasses,

her pursed lips,

her focus.

By the beach path,

some older boys

get between us,

walk next to her.

They talk to her,

but she hides behind

her mirrored glasses.

It’s not just how slow I am.

It’s that I’m afraid.

I shrink back

in these moments

and realize how young I am.

I mean, I sculpt trolls

out of clay

and design role-playing games

with my best friend.

I’m on a diet

where I can’t even eat bread.

These boys

with football hands

and chalky blond hair,

strange smells

and too many muscles.

What can I do?

Lisa stops in the sand

and looks back at me.

Her body turns sideways,

and she holds out her hand

for mine.

Elysium at the Beach

We find our spot

almost all the way to the water.

She spreads out her chair

and breathes.

Slowly she unpacks

her things,

water, lotion, books.

She’s reading two now,

A Wrinkle in Time

and a romance novel.

Lisa rubs sunscreen

on her legs.

I stare at the water

as much as I can,

until she asks,