Mary

mary

we hated mary
for all the good reasons:
chicken legs in socks too short
elastic waist around her chest
how she looked just past you
when she spoke

the slab of concrete walk
that bore her name
scratched in wet cement
was our favorite target
(next to mary)
for summer eggs we’d splat
and scramble
bugs and gum we’d grind
into the white

all that stopped the moment
she was plucked from line
at High’s on Belair Road
and left behind the dumpsters
back when they served
hand-dipped cones
and you could buy
your daddy’s Kools
with two bucks
and a note from home.

after that
she looked us in the eye
blue glass beads
that pricked our skin.
we didn’t dare whisper
mary
didn’t touch her square
or walk that way to school.

and when they found her
hanging like a plumb line
from her ceiling light
we were almost grateful
for the air.

mary was our first dead girl
we spoke of her with warmth
the time she passed her guinea pig
around at show and tell
the cupcakes that she brought
in for her birthday
the tissue she once gave me
when I cried over a boy.

mary I liked the gauchos
your mother made
gold and pink nubbly plaid
the brand new mary janes.
I liked your straight hair.

but someone had to be
the girl who made us all
feel good about our faults.
someone had to be the girl.
we pray it isn’t us.
we pray it’s not our daughters.