Oh Marjy, Marjy ("New York style poem")

Oh Marjy Marjy it is thunderstorm black on the walkway side

of Mr. Zastrow's square-tabled physics room but nothing, not a drop

on the other side of the lab. Just look through those diamond-shaped

bars on the windows, it is coming down sideways soaking

the covered walkway—we are going to have to dash

to Bonnie's music room. Scott's already reclining

across the piano. And we can't put the yearbook

to bed today, Royce and Jeff are giggling in the darkroom

with Phusi but we won't be able to drive

downtown, there's some kind of parade

on Boulevard du Trente Juin, another holiday,

another— oh look at these senior pictures, remember

tenth grade, everybody wearing Midema floursack

dresses, pants, even the yearbook cover

a Midema floursack.

The rainsquall's over, Marjy, no need to slip

into our Bata flip-flops after all, all

the sunshine is here in the days

of our senior year, we are the big kids, we own

the minutes hours double periods A days B days we own

the years cascading backwards and today this minute Dr. Dave

patrolling, strolling, Kendall and Bit hunched and giggling,

in the brightshine of lunchtime the hostel buses pulling up

to the hardpacked dirt plaza with pans of lasagna, we own

the fainting, braiding, leotard for you and bathing suit for me

and the smokers behind the student store but not us goody-

goody the hostel days for you me always just a visitor outside looking

in our long long legs walking us up and down past the railroad,

the presidential park, the okapis. Every step we take intertwined

but pulling us apart is ballet, boys, summers, history, tomorrow,

my body, your body, the things you know and I don't, the things

I know and you do not. All your quiet competence. Your prophecies

I hold onto.