Dance Contests & Broken Bones
Sometimes luck
is dumb.
I broke my collarbone
three times.
I also won
a dance contest
wearing a tube top
and tiny yellow shorts.
It was Milagros’s birthday,
her sisters were the judges.
My mother roasted
chicken. I remember
the wishbone
cracking. Between my
pointer and thumb, I held
the shorter end.
It was always time
for bed.
My mother once leapt
across a room
to smack me in the face.
That’s how I learned
about eruption. Or maybe
I learned another way.
My mother cooked meatloaf
on Sundays. I kicked Milagros
with my roller skates
and felt like hell.
The last time I broke
my collarbone
I didn’t bother
with the sling.
Instead I rode my bike
around the block,
singing.
It was painful
to do ordinary things.
So my mother
washed my hair,
poured warm water
from a cup.
No one ever told me change
is constant.
(appears in Girl Life, 2016).