Cheerleader Angst

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CHEERLEADER ANGST

My world shrinks to a frozen compact sky.
I hold my breath as I labor vainly
To tame the wild and shining rebellion
Of my nose. This is how I deal with things.

You can’t see much in a mirror this small
Or in the bathroom mirrors—stainless steel
Sheets, bolted to the wall, brand-new this fall
Because a senior killed herself last year.
A mirror is a way to kill yourself.

My locker mirror is unbreakable—
I know because I tried. It bends and warps
But never breaks. I’m looking in it now,
My nose distorted, smeared across my face,
The eyes two different sizes, mouth sagging.

I have wrinkles from smiling, from the sun;
They frame my mouth symmetrically, like seams
Around the jaw of some ventriloquist’s
Dummy. I say things that nobody hears—
Smart things, too quiet, ten minutes too late.

You don’t have to take me seriously.
I see myself the way you do. I am
The easy one. My roots are never dyed.
I steam at night in cars parked off the road,
My pretty hands so coyly dangling
The laces of virginity before
The grabby hands of boys and boys and men.
I bite my nails so close they sometimes bleed.
I read my name inside a bathroom stall
In handwriting I didn’t recognize
Until she signed my yearbook. She wrote “Love.”

I saw a picture once of Dante’s hell,
The bodies frozen in that icy lake,
Parts and pieces poking out of the ice—
A path of bodies, human stepping stones.
And I remember thinking, “Oh my God,
That’s me.” But I know better now. I am
The one who walks on your frozen faces.
Your grasping fingers rise out of the snow.
I’m on my way to places you can’t go.

October 2002