THE SUMMER BETWEEN

 

 

It was the summer Carolyn and I got over dolls—

our seventeen combined Barbies, including Francie,

who twisted and turned. My babies

Ginny and Susan posed stony on the shelf.

 

After swimming lessons—intermediate level

for the third consecutive year—

we’d fall into my white vinyl beanbag chair

and stare at the ceiling. There were no

 

dolls’ eyes there. Even our old pretending

stalled, except for the game we played on the bed—

rolling around as husband and wife,

making a baby. I hadn’t learned

 

which of our moves did the trick—

squeezing, rubbing, rolling. Carolyn knew.

Both of us knew she knew,

and knew somehow I shouldn’t be told.

 

Not yet. That summer it came between us.

Oh, we still loved our dolls

as they watched, but what

would they say? in our own dusky voices.

 

And watching for them watching us—

knowing grew complicated.

We pretended for them

they were looking away.

 

 

 

Previously appeared in Crab Creek Review, Spring/Summer 2008.