for a while, lets me feel it

until my body stops trembling.

New Beginning

Good news!

There’s a gallery

on Hayes Street,

in the city.

My mother puts her phone down

and paints the scene with her hands.

They want to show my work.

The Lotus Keeper and Melinda,

some of the new paintings.

They even want me

to do some live exhibitions.

Lisa walks straight to Melinda

and whispers something into

her ear, makes a mean face.

Later, I turn the base of the sculpture

around so Melinda

can see the other side

of the gallery

for at least a little while

before she moves

to her new home.

One More Hike

One last morning,

we hike up the Dipsea Trail

toward Steep Ravine.

Not too far, just high enough

to see the ocean against the town,

the small buildings, and the long

stretch of sand against

the endless blue-green.

I don’t hate school, Lisa says,

but I wish I only had

Shapiro’s art classes.

I’m looking forward to those.

She asks me what I think.

I don’t know. English is fun,

and sometimes science, and maybe

I can play sports or something?

We walk in silence

for a while, and I remember

that Lisa doesn’t always go to school.

Do you think we’ll hang out?

I think in terms of worst-case scenario,

just in case.

Probably not, she says.

Silence.

We laugh.

She hits my arm, then hugs me quickly.

I’ll be around.

More silence.

How do you think you’ll feel that first day?

I don’t know, I say.

I kind of want people to be like, NO WAY!

We laugh more, look out at the Pacific.

What about, you know?

She means Frank and the boys from the bike path.

I don’t say anything. I don’t mention their names.

You know, Ari, she says, you really have changed.

Her eyes are so clear.

She looks out across

the water,

her mind far away,

to whatever happens next.

She laughs.

Didn’t the book say

to take an after picture?

Maybe you should,

even if it’s just to remember

this summer.

After Picture

We stand on the deck again,

in the same way we did

at the start of the summer.

Jorge walks in

and puts his

long arms around me and Lisa

while my mom takes the picture.

Lisa prints

it right away, smiles at me,

but I don’t look at it.

A Last Look

I look at the mirror

in the nursery bathroom

one last time.

There’s less of me,

but I’m not

an action hero.

I can still feel the slight

overhang of my belly on my shorts,

the dig of the elastic,

and the skin on the backs of my arms,

especially soft. I’ve gained

back a few pounds, but it’s okay.

So much less of me.

So much more of me too.