Why didn’t you like it?
She stomps in the dirt, presses stop on the boom box.
I …
Oh what, you can’t talk today?
No … I …
This is a stupid idea anyway.
She wraps Blankie tighter and walks off toward the trees.
I see her hands at her neck
scratching,
her fingers wild on her skin.
I squeeze the stone in my pocket,
it doesn’t help. For a second
I think of the clay in the pool;
if I smeared it on my face
said just the right word,
would that work?
Malia, it was so good.
You are so good.
Silence.
I think the trees liked it, too.
She spins,
her dark hair
opens like wings.
Oh, suddenly you have words?
You can’t talk to the trees;
how do you know they liked it?
I don’t know why, Malia …
Yes, you do, she says. I think you can always talk!
Her voice grows louder.
You just don’t want to!
I squeeze the stone in my pocket.
She scratches the skin on her neck.
I feel it in my belly,
words swirl.
Well, you should STOP SCRATCHING!
She looks at me, her teeth clenched.
Oh, did you squeeze your little green stone hard enough to yell?
I take the bareket out of my pocket,
run a finger over its smooth green edges, hold it up to her face.
This? I feel anger in deep wells
boiling up from my toes.
I don’t even need this stupid thing.
And then,
without thinking,
I throw it far into the stream,
watch it bounce
rock to rock
down
into
the water.
Etan!
We both go after it,
slipping on moss-covered stones,
searching in the shallows,
but we can’t find it.
Can’t find it anywhere.