I dreamed of “Come to My Window” playing
as she and I sat inside, by the light of the moon
in fur coats and lipstick.


I tried having an imaginary boyfriend
but it didn’t work.
My dad grounded me,
certain he wasn’t so imaginary.
Imaginary or not,
he never wrote me back.


The game was Titanic.
At the top of the slide, X held me by my waist for the fifth day in a row and shouted, I’m king of the world!
The other 3rd graders promptly surrounded us and sang “My Heart Will Go On.” That was, before the school bully came to wreck the scene, as he always did, playing the role of my ex fiancee.
In my head, never getting to hold me was his penance
for forcing his hands up my skirt That One Time.
But perhaps he took more pleasure in keeping me and X from performing the kiss.
We never did. One day we convened at the water fountain, together, alone— and X could only talk about how short I was.


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