It occurs to me
that even repeating something
not so nice
is not nice.
Sorry, that’s just something
my father used to say.
He was born in Maine.
So were my parents,
Hunter says.
Memory Metal
Every day in chemistry class,
I open my textbook
to the same page.
It lists the names and numbers
and nicknames
of the elements
that make up everything
in the world.
Antimony, 51, Sb
Tantalum, 73, Ta
Californium, 98, Cf
They don’t make any more sense
than the rest of the sounds
I hear in class.
Ms. Roy fits red and green balls
on the ends of plastic sticks.
They’re called molecular models
but to me
they look like dog chew toys.
She holds one up,
her mouth moves,
and these sentences break through:
A memory metal is an alloy
that remembers its original shape.
If the material has been de-formed
it will regain its original shape
when it is reheated or left alone.
Does Jonah remember
his original form?
We can’t ever
leave him alone.
Team Meeting
Team Meeting for Jonah.
All his nurses
Me
Dr. Kate
making a house call.
Mom can’t take the time
off work
again.
We crowd in the messy kitchen.
I don’t have an urn,
but I make coffee
in the coffeemaker,
set out sugar and cream.
I guess I learned something
at the soup kitchen.
Coffee makes a bad situation
better.
Team Meeting is:
discuss what’s working,
what isn’t.
What the sounds Jonah makes
mean.
Nurse Johnny gives me a
shout-out.
Liv understands Jonah
better than anyone else.
Dr. Kate speaks up,
You’d make an excellent nurse,
Liv, think about it.
Thanks, Dr. Kate,
but I’d rather be a doctor.
Oh, really?
Dr. Kate tries not to look surprised.
Yeah,
I’ve seen how hard
the nurses work.
Vivian covers her mouth
behind Dr. Kate’s back,
but I can still hear the snort.
Fiddle Music
Hunter and I are both serving.
Beef stew
Yeast rolls
Sliced carrots
Peach cobbler
It’s not like at school.
In the soup kitchen,
I can hear the words people in line say.
Mostly the talk is about food.
“I was hoping it would be stew.”
“No peach cobbler for me,
I’m watching my sugar.”
“My mother made the best yeast rolls.”
I ask Hunter something.
Can you play fiddle music
on that violin of yours?
What do you mean—
fiddle music?
Hunter makes a face
like I asked him if he
could shovel snow
with his violin.
Ya know . . .
And I take a clean ladle
from the drawer,
put it on my shoulder
like a fiddle,
tap my foot, and sing.
Old Joe Clark, he had a house
Fifteen stories high
And every story in that house
Was filled with chicken pie.
There is applause, and smiles.
The food line stops moving
but Elinor doesn’t look mad.
I smile back
and take a little bow.
This is the silliest I’ve been
in five months.
That back-to-the-land
baby-loving mother of his
taught Hunter some manners.
He doesn’t laugh
at my bad singing.
I suppose if I had the
sheet music, I could.
Why?
My brother Jonah
always liked to listen
to the fiddlers
at the fair.
See, I learned something else
at the soup kitchen.
Music
makes a bad situation
better.
Fleas
I don’t lie.
I tell Mom,
I’m going down to the river.
She makes a
faraway face
when I say river.
I know all about
how Dad proposed to Mom
in the middle
of the swinging footbridge
over the Kennebec,
before the last big flood
washed it away,
and how they used to
go out in an old rowboat
to pick wild blueberries
along the banks of the river.
Clay is there
in the half dark
at the end of the dock.
It’s not windy this time,
and the river is calm.
The Kennebec is very deep,
my dad told us,
eighty feet in the middle.
Clay has a funny smell
like the weed-killer aisle
at Agway.
Something smells weird.
Does your dad have you
spray the poison?
No, it’s the truck.
Do you want me to
jump in the river
and wash it off?
We both know
it’s about forty degrees
in the water.
Since the Three Things game rule is
you have to be truthful,
I could say,
Tell me three things
about your father
or
Tell me three things
you wish you could undo
but I don’t.
I say to Clay,
Tell me three things
about fleas
First Finger.
Fleas are flightless.
Second Finger.
Fleas don’t have wings.
Third Finger.
Fleas can jump.
I don’t point out that First Finger
and Second Finger
say the same thing.
I’m practicing to be as nice
as Clay.
Clay doesn’t ask me
three things
but he reaches out for my hand
and holds my three fingers
with his three fingers.
He doesn’t ask
Three things about Jonah.
I’m not sure if I’m glad
or not.
Cold
When Jonah gets a cold
he is restless.
His nose runs
but he can’t wipe it,
doesn’t know to cough
up the gunk.
He doesn’t even have the strength
for loud cries.
Cu-rah cu-rah cu-rah
He can’t have
tea and honey.
He’d choke
on a cough drop.
I get into bed with him
in my sweatpants
and unicorn T-shirt.
Liv, I can look after Jonah,
Johnny says.
You need your sleep
for school tomorrow.
That’s okay,
I say,
I don’t need to be awake
in school.
I scrunch up between Jonah
and the metal bedrail.
I hear Jonah’s chest noises,
feel the warmth of his fever
through his pajamas.
Johnny spreads Jonah’s blanket
to cover both of us.
Jonah is less restless
when I’m there.