I can’t quite see

it straight.

Dear God.

Dear Jesus.

Jesus God.

Please, God.

Where are You?

My concrete head pounds.

My eyes feel dried out,

like maybe I have left them

open too long.

How long have I been

sitting here anyway?

I look out at the river

and now my eyes burn.

Nothing is pretty here anymore.

And that cloud

hasn’t even moved.

Another day.

Why so much?

I can’t tell Hope.

Momma says I can’t

or she’ll make her help,

make her do this too.

Another day.

I can’t be friends

with Cheri anymore

or Amanda.

They might look at me and know.

They might see what is gone from me.

They might see how I have changed

if I open

my mouth to them.

I can only glance at the words.

They make me sick.

My mouth is too dry now.

A glimpse at a time,

that is all I can stand.

And even that tears me up.

A glimpse is all I can stand.

I turn pages so slow a snail could go faster.

When he got on me . . .

Momma said, Kiss him. Use your tongue. . . .

She watched from the corner. . . .

I can’t sleep.

I’m too scared to sleep.

And I can’t stop the crying

when it comes.

I’m lost.

Not me anymore.

Momma says

she will make

Hope do this.

But I won’t let that happen.

Never !

I keep seeing a picture,

another picture that’s a face,

with tears that drip down both

cheeks

and to the bottom

of the page.

I’m surprised when a tear

of my own splats on the face,

the face that is so Lizzie,

this self-portrait,

and then I’m crying.

I toss the diary away from me

and it lands in the river with a slap.

I feel a scream

building up inside,

but what I do is throw up.

Because I have known.

I have had the dreams.

The crying was real.

My crying sister,

my Lizzie.

Protecting me.

Taking care of

me.

Mama she say, Shh.

She say, Shhh.

She say, Quiet, baby.

106.

Last summer,

Lizzie and me

went to a different place

on the river.

Not where we saw the snakes with Momma,

not where I go with Mari.

It was backwoods more.

Momma had sent us both away,

so we packed up a lunch

and hiked out to the water.

Then, by accident, walked to this place.

It was a cross,

where two rivers met

and the small one spilled into the larger.

A shallow pool had formed

and when we found it,

hiking along like there was only today,

neither one of us said a word for a moment.

Then I said,

I’m taking me a dip.

Right that second

I stripped down to my

underwear even though

the elastic on one

leg was half stitched on.

Liz said,

Somebody might be watching.

Let ’em watch,

I said

and plunged into the water.