Sometimes losing something
helps you find what you are really looking for.
Sorry, Etan, Malia says.
No, I’m sorry, I reply.
We walk with wet feet and tired hearts.
I carry the boom box.
You do sound really good.
She smiles.
I can tell she’s trying not to scratch.
It’s hard, okay?
My dad says it comes from worry.
It doesn’t matter. It’s just how I am.
It comes and goes;
I can’t control it.
If I could never scratch,
I wouldn’t.
If you could speak
the way you wanted to …
She stops,
looks up the hill at the fog rolling in.
Maybe, she says,
you should
shove some of that clay
in your mouth,
you know, to heal it?
We laugh.
Maybe YOU should
cover your whole body
so you look like a golem.
She walks to the pool,
scoops some clay into her hands.
Can you imagine me at school?
I really would be “the creature.”
She curls her fingers to a claw,
pretends to scratch her face.
It might mess up class,
everyone making fun of me.
I don’t know.
We reach the top of the hill.
Lots of kids do weird stuff,
maybe they can’t control it either.