Partly Cloudy

  You showed me your pinkish shoulder,

  And I wrote, Luv you, Madison. It was then

  I understood we are flesh and blood,

  And, like all others, we will die in time.

  We lay on the grass, not touching,

  Just facing the immense sky. Clouds rolled

  And migrating ducks, dark as commas,

  Were flying south. I closed my eyes.

  I took your hand in mine and imagined us dead,

  With the world wheeling above us

  But you at my side, Madison, you and I touching

  For all of time.

  Pomegranate as My Heart

  I don't have much to offer

  But this pomegranate,

  A fruit ancient as the Nile,

  A fruit that bleeds like a heart.

  I can only think of how beautiful you are.

  If I could crack open this pomegranate

  And share it with you,

  Would that be a nice gift?

  We could nibble these jewels,

  Smile red smiles.

  I wait at the curb, tossing the pomegranate

  From one hand to the other.

  Come out, please. I'm waiting.

  How many times will I juggle

  This ancient fruit before it drops?

  If I do—and it splits open

  To reveal its jewels—

  I'll give you the largest part.

  Driftwood

  When she said no,

  I took my loneliness to the river,

  Frozen only a month ago.

  Sunlight lit the first blossoms of spring

  And made early March appear beautiful.

  But it wasn't for me.

  I stared at the slow cargo of blossoms,

  And the ripples that hurried them along.

  I kicked sand that sprayed like salt,

  And sighed a dozen times.

  I noticed driftwood that resembled arms

  And legs. That's how I felt,

  Lifeless, in other words.

  You may laugh, but I bent over the river,

  Adding to that ancient flow,

  A young man's sadness when a girl says no.

  Getting to Know You

  It was rude of me to bend down

  And read what it said on your ankle,

  But it was unkind

  Of you to walk away.

  I had to follow like a duck,

  Until you stopped—you placed

  Your shoe on my thigh.

  I retied your loose shoelaces,

  And got to read the name

  On your ankle bracelet—Jenny.

  That was the first time we touched—

  Your shoe on my thigh,

  And your little toes,

  Wiggling behind the cloth

  Of worn tennis shoes.

  It was so cute—the little toe

  Was peeking out,

  Peeking at me!

  Imagination

  To travel, we can use our imagination,

  Or so says Mr. Fried, our English teacher.

  If we just picked up a book,

  We could be in France, Brazil, or Norway.

  Mr. Fried, you're a nice man,

  But, please, you pick up the book

  And float on an iceberg to Norway!

  You swat mosquitoes in hot, hot Brazil.

  After school, I'm rolling

  My skateboard thirty-three blocks,

  Sixteen of which I'll be terrorized

  By pit bulls and thugs lurking

  Like vultures on car fenders.

  You see, I have a girl

  On the other side of town.

  I don't want to read

  About love, but feel love—

  Her hand in mine,

  Her hair against my throat,

  And the pink bud of her tongue...

  She's shy as a pony and just as tall.

  Mr. Fried, you're a nice man,

  A smart man. I'm sure if I told you

  About my girl and me,

  You could write a book.

  A View of Heaven

  Love, come to my house

  And we'll climb my roof—

  I read on the Internet

  The moon will rise at 7:28

  Over a forest of TV antennas

  And the trees rustling their confetti

  Of heart-shaped leaves.

  Let the neighbors watch

  What they watch. But let us, my love,

  Watch the moon lift the stars.

  Don't we know our planets?

  We could count them out,

  One by one, and admit to ourselves

  That Venus is our favorite.

  The planet of love?

  I may be wrong.

  But I'm not wrong about you,

  And that the moon will not wait—

  It rises at 7:28, and if you

  Arrive before then

  I will take your hand and lead you up

  The ladder, you a star,

  My Venus rising.

  Forest of Boulders

  Out of love,

  I'm going to walk

  Into the forest

  And sit next to

  A gray boulder.

  Rain will fall,

  Thickets grow

  Around my feet

  Until after

  So many years

  I will blend into

  That boulder.

  Then another boy

  My age, hurt

  In the heart,

  Will hunker next to me.

  Rain will fall,

  Hawks settle

  On his hardening

  Shoulders

  Until he, too,

  Becomes a boulder.

  Time passes.

  Shooting stars cut across

  The sky. The president declares

  It a national park.

  Hikers will climb

  Over and step

  Around these boulders

  In the forest, where boys go

  When a girl says no.

  Leaving the Bookstore

  Through the glass door greasy with fingerprints,

  I couldn't help it. My eyes slid

  From you to a girl in a red halter,

  Tight jeans, sandals, straight blond hair,

  Freckles on her shoulders, a toe ring...

  I was taking inventory of her beauty,

  And you caught me. I asked lamely,

  “Does she go to our school?”

  You narrowed your eyes at me,

  Flashed red coals from deep inside you,

  Wherever you keep your anger.

  We walked in silence to the next store,

  Me, a little dog, a few steps behind.

  Love Medicine

  From then on he couldn't sleep.

  And if his stepmother

  Made him his favorite meat loaf,

  He propped his chin

  On his hand and thought,

  Just one bite—I’m not really hungry.

  He couldn't do his homework.

  He couldn't do his chores.

  When a friend called

  And said, “Hey, man, let's lift weights,”

  He moaned that he was sick.

  He was lovesick.

  He couldn't get this girl

  Out of his mind.

  He wished that he could go

  To the pharmacy and stagger down

  An aisle to find Love Medicine—

  In liquid and tablet forms

  And, perhaps, Band-Aids to apply

  To his heart, for he hurt there

  And other places.

  He would examine boxes

  And read the instructions,

  “Take every hour. If symptoms worsen

  Discontinue use and consult your doctor.”

  If only there was

  Medicine to correct his dizziness

  Ove
r this girl in algebra.

  But she was the medicine, a remedy.

  She was the doctor pressing

  A cool hand to his forehead

  And cooing, “There, there. All better.”

  Spreading Love

  My girlfriend was bouncing down

  The hallway, so happy, so full of love,

  And her hair lifting beautifully

  After each bouncy step.

  She was carrying the roses I gave her,

  Petals unhooking and dropping to the ground.

  She hugged me, smiled, and said, “Hi, ugly.”

  This was how much we loved each other.

  Later, when I walked around campus,

  I saw petals everywhere,

  My girlfriend so busy showing her friends

  The flowers I bought her.

  I had to smile. She was in love with me,

  And those poor roses, just stems at the end

  Of the day, blew across the schoolyard

  Like kisses.

  Mystery

  She showed me the scar on her wrist

  And said, “It doesn't hurt

  Anymore.” I swallowed my fear

  And asked how she got it.

  She pulled her hair behind

  Her ears and whispered, “An accident.”

  That was it, no more.

  It was after school. We were playing

  Volleyball in cold weather.

  Our breath hung in the air

  And our wrists stung

  When we slugged the ball.

  I couldn't get it out of my mind.

  The scar was shaped like a smile—

  But I knew it was nothing

  To laugh about.

  Hard Work

  I'm exhausted from being in love—

  My fingers are blistered from writing

  You e-mail love letters.

  I hurt from carrying a huge torch in my heart.

  No one told me love would be such hard work.

  Every day I put on clean clothes, floss my teeth,

  And breathe on mirrors to check my breath.

  And for our first-month anniversary

  I memorized a poem and worked three hours

  In my neighbor's yard—with the money earned

  I bought you flowers that I held before you,

  All the while reciting a Sylvia Plath poem.

  I have my doubts now.

  I've lost weight and my lips are chapped

  From saying how much I love you.

  I have rings under my eyes

  And my bottle of cologne is half-empty.

  I'm a little more than half-empty.

  My ride, as you know, is a bicycle.

  Next time, when we're going somewhere,

  Could I sit on the bar and you pedal?

  I'm exhausted from being in love.

  Iowa Evening

  A shooting star burns across the sky,

  And I make a wish

  On its brief earthly descent.

  I wish you were here

  Next to me on this tractor in the field.

  I helped Dad from a little

  Before sunup, dropped coins

  Of sweat in the cornfields,

  And then washed the car—

  Mom had some church thing

  To do and Dad went along.

  Alone, in my aching bones,

  I ate dinner and then went outside

  To feel the evening wind.

  You're on my mind. I think of you,

  The city girl, and whether

  You really love me. At the sight

  Of another shooting star,

  I wish you would suddenly

  Appear from the tall stalks

  Of corn, a blanket on your arm.

  I watch the stalks, a breath

  Of evening wind rustling the leaves.

  I wait nearly an hour

  At the wheel of a tractor,

  Tired as a horse.

  The shooting stars fall

  All over the county

  And boys like me, seated

  On tractors, truck fenders, porches,

  Are wishing on stars—

  I'm hoping that somewhere,

  Perhaps at our place,

  A certain girl will part

  The tall stalks of corn

  And throw a blanket

  Into the air. Where it spreads

  Is where this girl will lie

  With her country boy.

  Playing Our Parts

  If you love me,

  Meet me in front of the theater,

  Where the movie

  Is Hug Me If You Mean It.

  Let's not go in.

  Just meet me there,

  And we'll play the parts

  In that movie we'll never see.

  I'll be the boy, you the girl,

  And the world—traffic and cars

  Hurling through red lights—

  Our backdrop. We'll play our

  Parts for free. I'll kiss you,

  And the director inside me will shout,

  “Cut—hug and let's do it again.”

  There will be stars in my eyes,

  Stars in yours. I like perfection.

  I'll do it until I get it right.

  Out in Nature

  Not much of a hill

  As hills go—and it looks like

  Ants are trying to claim it

  And haul its leaves underground.

  How do they do this? Only nature knows.

  We step back to give them room.

  Thousands of ants are everywhere,

  With bits of lumber in their jaws.

  You and I watch them

  And their marvelous capacity for work.

  Then we go in search

  Of another hill where we can spread

  A quilt. I want to lie at your side

  And pluck your hair like a harp.

  I know there's music inside you,

  A song, some lyrics that speak my name.

  It's my nature to love you.

  You are beauty—flower, leaf, sunshine.

  Let the ants have every small hill

  But this one. We'll lie on the quilt

  And listen to the wind with its rumors

  Of love and longing.

  Though I get tongue-tied,

  Let love now speak our names.

  An Act of Kindness

  As an act of kindness I steer the mower

  Around bees on our lawn.

  Today, I don't want to hurt anyone,

  And least of all, those making honey.

  My stepfather watches from the porch.

  He points and says over the noise,

  “Buddy, you missed over there.”

  I'll go back,

  But first I'll let the bees move

  To another part of the lawn,

  Or move to the flowering geranium.

  I stop my mower, wipe my face.

  I notice the kindness of bees.

  They each drink from a flower

  And let the next bee drink.

  There's no shoving like students

  In school, all of us at the fountain,

  Wetting our lips, for we have a lot to say.

  I'm thinking of you, love,

  And the blades that may cut us down.

  The world is cruel. People have knives,

  And even their teeth look like knives.

  What we could learn from the bees.

  Gary Soto's first book for young readers, Baseball in April and Other Stories, won the California Library Association's Beatty Award and was named an ALA Best Book for Young Adults. He has since published short stories, plays, poetry, and many novels, including The Afterlife, which was named a Booklist Editors' Choice and a New York Public Library Book for the Teen Age. He lives in Berkeley, California.