Out of interest…
by Patricia Higgins
I’d like to know whether the chapel bells start to ring at noon, or if they finish twelfth on the hour. I ponder as I walk to class, my boots kicking up snow and mud; the construction workers look up to see me pass. I’d like to know if fishes think I can fly when I leave the water to climb onto land. My bathing suit filled with creek water as I stumbled over painful rocks. I tripped and lost the stick body of girlhood somewhere on those summers’ riverbanks. I filled my frame until I fell into your embrace. I’d like to know if I fit better in your arms than other girls. I ask myself these things in the shower: I shampoo my hair, wrap myself up in a towel. I’d like to know if the ache in my shoulders will ever go away. My muscle twitches, and my nose flares in pain. I’d like to know if the boy across the hall thinks I’m cute. He’s walking out of his room now, and he nods to me in my towel, holding my soap. My mom was worried about shared bathrooms when I first left home. I’d like to know if you ever meant the sweet things you said. You kissed my forehead; I kissed your neck. You told me I was the loveliest girl you knew, that the world was cruel, that people are unkind. I’d like to know if I start stealing dishes, they’ll catch me. I already have a stash of stolen things; cups and forks and old clothes… all rendered useless by their randomness. They sit like small cavalry about my room. I’d like to know if that’s how my friends feel: surrounding me, ready to be called upon, entirely unable to assist. I’d like to know how much you ever cared, and when you stopped. I look out my window and the snow still falls; and this time I say aloud, “Oh please, God. Let it stay.” I’d like to know if my friend is right: pain writes poetry. And when will it be enough? We are both, then, waiting to fall in love. I’d like to know in what order things will happen when they come. I wonder when I’ll fall in love again,
and when I’ll finally fall out of love with you.