so often does, We’ll see, when the time comes.

A Greater Good / Muriel

A Greater Good

Muriel

I should have been the valedictorian. Does it bother you,

Emma asked me, to be smarter than all the boys?

No, it doesn’t bother me, but Mr. Sander couldn’t stand

to hear me give a speech—who knows what radical ideas

I might express. He gave me a D in comportment

(Comportment: Who I am! How I conduct myself!)

so my final average fell one quarter point below

Arthur Anderson’s, and now we are listening

to Arthur lecture us: We must all Put Others First

in this Time of our Country’s Greatest Need.

We must Sacrifice our Selfish Dreams

for a Greater Good. The teachers and parents

and half the students get out their handkerchiefs

to dab tears from their eyes, and call attention to

their sniffles. Silently, I argue against every word

that Arthur says: If we do put others first, if we love

the ones we love and trust people everywhere

to do the same, wouldn’t we stop sacrificing one another,

fooling ourselves into believing that such sacrifice would solve

our problems? Wouldn’t we be free to pursue

those selfish dreams that might, if

everyone is putting others first,

lead to a genuinely greater good?

I’m still steaming about all this

when Frank offers me his arm to walk

from the school to the dance hall. The soft swish

of my dress doesn’t stop me from stomping along,

arguing point by point with Arthur’s speech.

Why is everyone just doing what they’re told?

The presidents of all the countries should

meet somewhere and fight this war themselves

if they think it’s worth fighting.

What are they sacrificing? Have they asked the mothers

who gave the best years of their lives to raise

these boys the presidents are sending into battle?

No! Women don’t even get to vote—it isn’t fair!

Frank listens for a while, then says, You’re starting

to sound like one of those Woman Suffragists, Muriel.

It doesn’t sound very patriotic. But who cares?

You graduated! Let’s dance! And so we do,

together, and with other friends—I dance with all

the boys except for Arthur, who doesn’t ask me,

and Frank dances with each of the twelve girls

in my class, and then he and I dance

the last dance, relaxing into each other’s arms,

Frank’s heartbeat steady in my ear. I have to admit,

I’m enjoying this, and when the dance is over,

it’s nice to walk outside into the night,

with Frank, my almost-but-not-quite brother.

Someone / Muriel

Someone

Muriel

The horses clip-clop down the road ahead of us—

the fragrance of lilacs, then the sweet scent of skunk,

a chorus of crickets and spring peepers. It’s not often

Frank and I are alone together, neither Emma