Lucia and I turn twelve; something happens.
The others find out, hiding behind a pillar.
We are betrayed:
the two of us like the innermost fruit in a bowl,
the others slowly falling away or being eaten or taken
to be eaten.
A happening, then a giving up.
Our mothers have a time.
I am confined to the yard behind our house.
I lie on the short grass-a sage on a bed of nails.
I watch the brilliant cataract
sky move as if a sight
within it moves.
A happening, a giving up, and now a removal.
Still, I know I will again be
a flower to the wind, and I will