Poetry

Gillian Weiss, 2007

I am fifteen years old and I have to decide
when to let Daniel Hazard kiss me.

He repairs old Fords. We drive past sand
dunes, until something rattles in his trunk

and he pulls over to investigate but instead crawls
on top of me in the front seat.

I have an artificial leg. He doesn't know
that and when his hand rubs against me

and I'm not real, he stops and says,
"What the hell?" like I've offended him.

Everything is different now. Daniel
Hazard calls every day except Sundays

which he spends with his family
and I guess that means he's a good guy

and has the values my mother talks about.
He's afraid to hold my hand because he thinks

it might throw me off balance. Hand-holding
doesn't throw me off balance.

I want you to know this, because maybe you
wondered about people with fake legs, maybe

you wanted to hold their hand but you didn't
because you thought you might trip.