rooftop girlhood 

i remember the taste of plum candy.
our elbows & the open window.
me, the last one to end up
on her roof.
the other girls
quick to change themselves
into their favorite birds. herons
& swifts & even a blue jay. 
i was always a pigeon. 
the following ghost. a message curled
like a foot in my mouth.
i wanted to be one of them. i loved
her house. the wooden floors
& the bay window. 
especially though the pond in the back
where we listened to the frogs
become men. once, when no one 
was looking
i waded into the water. 
felt my skin go amphibial. cool 
early spring. to be a girl is to
replicate each other's laughs. is to
put stars in your teeth. 
i never did any of those things.
instead, i followed. i loved the girls
who kept me. the brownies we ate
in the basement. the older brother
who played basketball in his bedroom.
thrumming house. thrumming window.
the clock in the kitchen
which sung bird calls on every hour.
the loon was late at night. 
a lonely song. me on the roof alone
with everyone else asleep.
i was looking for 
a television 
beneath the clouds. i was convinced 
there had to be something they had seen
that i did not. i found nothing.
wind making an instrument 
of my gender. a whistle or a chime. 
her lipstick open on the bathroom sink.
i put a little on the back
of my hand to feel the texture. 
waxy & soft. red, far too deep.