Yellow Mini Read online

  for family fun.

  She doesn’t see is

  tin shacks with no floors

  sick kids with no medicine

  bucket toilets and dirty water

  empty plates and bloated bellies.

  She says I shouldn’t

  think so much about things

  that happen so far away

  in places where people

  are grateful for any job.

  She blames Mr. Dawe

  for filling our heads

  with negative thoughts

  and making us see the world

  as one big ugly place.

  But I say

  not seeing the world

  that way is what

  made the world

  that way in the first place .

  Christopher says

  we’re both right

  but that’s not

  what I wanted

  to hear.

  NOW

  Christopher

  Now, we’re the dynamic

  duo, standing

  near the doors,

  enlightening

  the zombies

  shopping

  blindly,

  unaware,

  like I was

  before

  Annabelle.

  Now, we’re a force

  that can’t be

  ignored,

  the two of us

  so close,

  two flyers

  coming at them,

  two bodies

  to sidestep

  or stare

  down.

  Now, when our fingers

  freeze, we reach

  for each others’

  and feel the heat

  flow back in

  through

  our gloves.

  Now, if only I could forget

  what we’re really

  doing here.

  RULES OF THE ROAD

  Christopher's Father

  Suddenly you are

  taller

  smarter

  deeper

  older

  and slightly colder

  to me,

  Like you think

  if you get too close

  you will become

  a child again.

  I’d like to give you

  advice,

  tell you that

  how you act now will

  shape the man

  you become,

  set the stage

  for future

  relationships,

  form the prototype

  against which

  you measure

  your success,

  But I’m no longer

  at the helm,

  steering

  the toboggan

  with you clinging

  to my back,

  or leading the way

  through traffic

  on our bikes,

  teaching you

  the rules of the road,

  your hand

  seeking mine

  at street corners,

  waiting for lights

  to turn green.

  The only thing

  in front of you

  now is your conscience.

  May it steer you

  well.

  On the Inside

  Annabelle

  Mr. Dawe encourages us

  to enter the mall

  instead of standing

  like stone pillars

  at the doors, as though

  we have no right

  to be inside, among

  the shoppers.

  He says we’d have more

  impact getting them

  right at the scene

  of their crimes, our

  actions doubled

  in glass storefronts,

  the innocent shoppers

  caught by our lures:

  Powder blue flyers

  designed to resemble

  promo-junk, two-for-one,

  buy-one-get-one-free,

  except that when they

  open them they see

  Asian girls sleeping

  in a toy factory dorm

  tight as a submarine,

  Two rows of bunks

  stretching forever,

  like an image caught

  in a dressing room

  mirror, reflecting

  into infinity, which

  is what their days

  must feel like, seven

  to ten, short breaks

  and little food.

  I wonder if they sometimes

  stab their fingers on

  their needles just to jab

  themselves awake and

  if they do, do they

  think of Sleeping Beauty,

  who at least got to sleep

  for one hundred years

  before being rescued

  by Prince Charming?

  Modulation

  A harmonic progression

  Mary

  It does get easier,

  just like my teacher said

  it would, playing

  in front of a crowd.

  I remind myself that

  even Chopin said

  the days leading up to

  a performance were hell.

  I like knowing that Annabelle

  and Christopher are up there

  controlling the lights.

  I can feel them sending

  warm vibes over

  the third floor crowd

  whose reactions I can never read.

  The first few weeks my stomach

  roiled like a stormy sea, my fingers

  slipped on the keys, and my feet

  clomped across the stage.

  Once, the bench scraped back

  by mistake, echoing

  like a long fart

  through the air.

  Another time I turned my page

  too hard and sent the sheets

  fluttering, out of order,

  to the floor.

  But most days nothing bad happens and

  I simply play, forgetting about people,

  focusing only on the music

  that flows from my fingers

  Letting it spin a colourful cocoon around me,

  hiding me until the director

  shouts “next” and I

  can leave.

  Pearl

  Annabelle

  Mary is like a pearl when

  she plays, so shiny

  and polished.

  Before, she was inside the oyster

  and no one knew she

  could play

  Except me and her parents

  and her teacher.

  I hope

  That when Christopher does the lights,

  he turns them on her

  full blast

  To make sure she stands out

  because knowing Mary

  as I do

  She will want to crawl inside

  the shell of the

  piano

  And curl up there,

  tiny as a grain

  of sand.

  INSIDE THE MALL

  Christopher

  I was okay with parking lots

  and sidewalks, and sticking flyers

  under windshield wipers,

  and
marching in a circle

  round and round

  outside the entrance.

  But going inside was another story,

  especially when my aunt

  stepped out of The Gap

  with my cousin’s present

  looped over her arm.

  She started to walk toward me

  but I turned away and froze,

  hoping she’d get the message

  and stay away. Then

  I had to watch Annabelle

  run up to her and shove

  a flyer inside the blue bag.

  I wondered: would my aunt

  wrap it up with the present?

  Opening Me Up

  Annabelle

  Christopher

  opens me up

  like a room

  I never knew I had.

  Inside

  that room is a me

  who laughs

  and kisses his neck

  and combs his hair

  with my fingers.

  Last night

  walking from

  his house to mine,

  after rehearsal,

  counting our steps

  but losing track

  after two thousand,

  the numbers trailing

  away in giggles

  that turned to kisses

  Christopher

  said, let’s kiss

  every prime number

  so we did: 1, 3, 5, 7, 11, 13, 17, 19, 23, 29, 31, 37

  until the kisses grew

  too far between.

  Let’s kiss every

  even number, I said

  so we did, kissing

  every second step

  until we were at my door,

  the light in my mom’s

  room telling me she

  was up, waiting.

  Hiding

  behind a bush

  Christopher asked

  if I knew how far

  we were from

  Venus, and when I

  shook my head he said,

  40,400,000 kilometers

  which is how far I feel

  from you when you’re here

  and I’m at home.

  We kissed

  behind the bush, away

  from the light until

  we heard the front

  door open and saw

  my mom sniff

  the night air, as if

  she could smell

  our wanting

  each other

  so bad.

  Christopher

  said 480 degrees—

  that’s the temperature

  of two things:

  Venus and me

  right now

  I Know How It Happens

  Annabelle's Mom

  That first kiss, that first real kiss

  where you feel yourself

  go hot all

  over

  And the whole world melts away

  until there is just the two

  of you in a vacuum

  of sound and

  touch

  That is when it happens, the heat

  rising, your bodies groping

  more and more toward

  each other, leaving

  your rational

  mind be-

  hind.

  That’s how it happened for me at

  sixteen at a party, upstairs,

  the thump of the music

  below, like our

  pulses turned

  on high

  And next thing I knew I’d done it,

  clothes half on, half off, in a

  stranger’s bed with a guy

  I barely knew, his beer

  breath asking if I was

  okay and me acting

  tough, saying yes,

  when really I

  was wet and

  scared.

  Nine months later Annabelle arrived,

  pink and precious, named after my

  favourite Poe poem, one line

  now so true: I was a child

  and she was a child,

  the two of us raw

  and kicking,

  fighting

  for life.

  So I know how it happens, Annabelle.

  Against Me

  Annabelle

  Today, the waitress at the deli

  put my plate down and smiled

  right at me, as if she could see

  into my heart—big and bursting

  like the red pepper in the jar.

  I made a happy face of my meal,

  two eggs sunny side up

  a tomato nose and bacon mouth,

  and my mom asked what’s gotten

  into me, as if she doesn’t know.

  When she met Christopher, she shook

  his hand hard, squeezing it

  like she wanted to trap it

  and make sure he couldn’t

  use it against me.

  WEIGHT

  Mark

  Her presence is starting to weigh me down.

  She wants something from me, something

  I thought I wanted to give her,

  but can’t.

  My dad used to weigh me down, too.

  His expectations sat on my shoulders,

  dark and heavy as that bomb

  on his roof.

  My mom does it to me too, at home.

  The way she shuffles around, sighing heavily, like

  she’s looking for signs to tell her

  which way to go.

  Alien

  Christopher

  My friends treat me like aliens have

  beamed me up and snuck

  an android into

  my body.

  It’s like they can’t figure out how

  I got Annabelle to go out

  with me, a former

  nobody.

  They don’t know whether they can slap

  my back, mess up my hair, or play-

  punch me, like they would

  anybody else,

  All because the magical touch

  of a beautiful girl has

  turned me into a

  somebody.

  Crossing the Line

  Annabelle

  Mr. Dawe is in trouble for pushing us into the mall.

  The administration rapped his knuckles for crossing

  a line between teaching us about the world

  and interfering in the community.

  They told him it’s okay to organize booths

  at school, but gathering with students at malls,

  then harassing people inside those malls,

  is way beyond the teacher’s code of conduct.

  Mr. Dawe disagrees. He says learning doesn’t stop

  at the school gates. It’s everywhere, and what better place

  to learn about the warped values of consumer society

  than at the mall—the modern day town square?

  We all agree with him

  and want to start a petition,

  but since we are only seven

  members, it seems hopeless.

  Mr. Dawe says not to worry. He has no intention

  of slowing down. Rome wasn’t built in a day

  and if all the makers and shakers of history had quit

  so easily, there would have been no progress.

  Believe it or not, our flyers

  are as
powerful as stones or bullets.

  They can help change the world,

  one thought at a time.

  All I Need to Know

  Stacey

  Mark drives the Mini over bridges,

  the water under us

  frozen and gray.

  We pass sleepy summer towns,

  boarded up

  and hibernating.

  The roads are lined with trees,

  tall and stiff

  as exclamation marks.

  Mark’s face is completely closed,

  his peppery stubble

  dark and scratchy.

  Way behind us, the rehearsal

  is on, which means

  I’m off the show.

  On the back seat, my homework

  lies untouched, my

  marks are falling fast—

  And in my mind the memory

  of Mark’s affection

  is fading faster.

  Back home, my parents

  are angry, begging

  me to stay home.

  Ahead of us, the mountains

  are folded over,

  brown and angry.

  Under me, my fingers are crossed

  as I pray we

  won’t drive up them.

  Telling Annabelle

  Christopher

  How can I tell

  Annabelle

  That, in a way,

  I agree

  With the school

  about not crossing

  The line

  into the mall?

  Mr. Dawe says

  our flyers

  Are as powerful

  as bullets

  But do people

  like my aunt

  Really deserve

  to get shot?

  Appassionata

  Mary

  With passion

  Two more weeks now

  before the show.

  Late night, all-dressed

  pizza supper,

  Ten extra-large

  boxes piled high,

  Got to join in

  can’t hold back.

  Make-up, costumes,

  dress-rehearsal,

  White silky shirt,

  flowing white skirt,

  Foundation, blush,

  mascara,

  Stacey’s replace-

  ment stepping up.

  In the mirror

  a stranger stands,

  Lipstick smile,

  unfamiliar:

  Me, but not me,

  new me, old me.

  Joining in, as

  best I can, part-

  icipating,

  zipping dresses,

  Encouraging

  words, break a leg.

  My turn, the light