III: After Memory

Why does spring always remind me of
pain? Is it the garbage that people
in the city always layer in the snow
(so that these are the secrets spring unlocks)?
I'll make a snap decision--
abandon the conventionally desperate pose
to tell instead some anecdotes.

A boy lies in the schoolyard
with his smooth cheek pressed on
the gravel pavement and another boy
on his head, the second crowing.
The first cannot believe his weakness
and wishes he were home instead but
there is no pulling loose. Tears of
anger uncontrollably deepen shame and
shut this boy irrevocably out from all
male victories. You reader, tell
his name.

When I turned eleven and began
to ripen (she said) into softly
fruitful curves a thin prick
of a boy called me a fat ass
and when I announced it was
International Women's Day the yawp
was simian. Boys will be boys but
when I was three and watching Dr. Who
my father told me I too had the power.
Amazing how well and long a child believes.

No word ever deceives the speaker. Beneath
the apparent lies the revenant truth that
melting spring unlocks, unblocks, and thereby
(my child)
defeats.