Chapter Text
No one ever told us we had to study our lives,
make of our lives a study, as if learning natural history
music, that we should begin
with the simple exercises first
and slowly go on trying
the hard ones, practicing till strength
and accuracy became one with the daring
Amber woke up to the sound of early morning arguing. Her parents were in another fight over jobs or money or something temporary yet everlasting. Dawn had hardly begun to break (rays of light had not yet permeated their windows), yet that didn’t make a difference to the schedule of her father’s yelling. It seemed to be coming from the kitchen. An argument to pass the time while the coffee brewed.
She wondered how many of her classmates had the same morning routine. Amber often questioned whether or not her life could be considered normal. It seemed like a perfectly fine nuclear family, at the least. Two parents, two children, two men, two women — it all came in perfectly even sets.
to leap into transcendance, take the chance
of breaking down the wild arpeggio
or faulting the full sentence of the fugue.
She cast a look at the book of poetry left open on her nightstand. It was a reread for her, the pages already marked with pink highlighter and notes scribbled in the margins. Dream of a Common Language . Her attention was drawn again to her parents’ as she heard the volume escalate. Perhaps that was the issue. Men and women spoke different languages.
Amber cracked open her door and checked to see if the coast was clear. The last thing she wanted was to be dragged into one of her parents’ arguments. Quietly, she entered the hallways and walked over to the next room, knocking softly. “Hey, TJ, can I come in?”
Her brother opened the door. The bags under his eyes were prominent and his dirty blond hair was unkempt. “Of course. Mom and Dad woke you up, too?”
“Yeah.”
And in fact we can’t live like that: we take on
everything at once before we’ve even begun
to read or mark time, we’re forced to begin
in the midst of the hard movement,
the one already sounding as we’re born.
A fluffy, cream colored cat wrapped herself around Amber’s legs. She bent down and gave the cat a scratch on her ears. “Hey, pretty kitty. How’s my pretty Macaroni doing today?”
“She was scratching at my door. I figure I’d let her in,” TJ said. “I think she hates the all the fighting too. She must if she’s willing to come into my room. The dumb cat likes you better.”
Amber pursed her lips, scooping up the cat in her arms, allowing Macaroni to put her paws up on her shoulder. “Shut up! She isn’t dumb! How could you say such a thing about her? She’s the second smartest one in this house next to me.”
“Oh please, Amber,” he scoffed and stuck his tongue out. “She must be an absolute idiot if she prefers you.”
There was a loud slam of some sort, causing the cat to leap out of her arms and run under TJ’s bed. Amber resisted the impulse to flinch at the noise. She was the older sibling after all; it was her job to be the rock of the family.
At most we’re allowed a few months
of simply listening to the simple
line of a woman singing a child
against her heart. Everything else is too soon,
too sudden, the wrenching-apart, that woman’s heartbeat
heard ever after from a distance
the loss of that ground-note echoing
whenever we are happy, or in despair.
“Do you need to shower or did you do it last night?” Amber asked. “Because I’d like to hop in the shower.”
TJ pointed to his hair, which seemed to be composed of nothing but cowlicks. “This is the hair of someone who slept with his hair wet like a dumbass.”
“See? I was right. Macaroni is the second smartest in this house,” Amber said with a giggle. “I’m gonna head out now. Be careful crossing the kitchen. I’m not sure if it’s still a warzone.”
Everything else seems beyond us,
we aren’t ready for it, nothing that was said
is true for us, caught naked in the argument,
the counterpoint, trying to sightread
what our fingers can’t keep up with, learn by heart
what we can’t even read. And yet
The slamming seemed to be her father slamming the front door and leaving, considering that the argument had transformed into only one voice, shrieking profanities over the phone. Amber turned on the water, its rhythmic patter against the porcelain of the bathtub helping to drown out the sounds of her house.
Her mother would leave for work soon enough; she headed into work earlier than normal nowadays to make extra money for working overtime. Amber was surprised the company was so quick to approve this extra work and pay. Maybe her boss took pity on her.
it is this we were born to. We aren’t virtuosi
or child prodigies, there are no prodigies
in this realm, only a half-blind, stubborn
cleaving to the timbre, the tones of what we are,
even when all the texts describe it differently.
Amber’s father theorized that her mother’s boss was a lesbian who was infatuated with the soft and slightly-worn beauty that was Elizabeth Kippen (although, his ways of stating it were much… less friendly. “Come on , Elizabeth, can’t you see she’s a dyke who’s hoping by giving you what you want you’ll fuck her?” he yelled at her mother one day). She always flinched at that word and the venom on her father’s tongue as he spat it out. Dyke. It was a harsh word, an ugly word.
She stepped out of the shower, trying to brush and blow-dry her hair in the steamed up mirror. Perhaps she would wait until after the steam cleared out. When she walked in her room, she turned her attention to her phone sitting on the charger. Unplugging it as she picked it up, she noticed a notification from Andi.
Andi: good morning!!
Andi: how’s the kippen household today??
She smiled as she read the messages. It was nice to know that Andi cared for her. Amber was unaccustomed to having someone who was as concerned with her emotions as Andi Mack. She basked in it, really. To her, Andi was a warm summer ray.
And we’re not performers, like Liszt, competing
against the world for speed and brilliance
(the 79-year-old pianist said, when I asked her
What makes a virtuoso? —Competitiveness.)
Amber reread the messages once more, trying to figure out a proper response. Andi knew about the issues within her family. She had known for awhile about her family’s financial struggles, her father’s inability to hold down a job, how deeply wrapped up in their own problems her parents were. However, Amber tended to leave out how routine the morning arguments were, how Amber and TJ were never sure which time their dad stormed out was going to be the final one. No one needed to be pressured with all of her problems. Yet, she didn’t quite know how to lie to her.
The longer I live, the more I mistrust
theatricality, the false glamour cast
by performance, the more I know its poverty beside
the truths we are salvaging from
the splitting-open of our lives
Perhaps she could tell a half-truth. Lying to Andi made her immensely guilty. It wasn’t necessary for Amber to spill out every single truth at once to her best friend. She stared at the blinking caret, drafting a potential response in her head.
Amber: sorry i was in the shower
Amber: rough morning so far
Amber checked the weather while she waited for a response, trying to see what clothes were acceptable. Perfectly temperate, though the day carried a small potential for rain. She would dress accordingly. As she finished checking the weather, Andi sent a response.
Andi: that sucks :(
Andi: whats going on?
The woman who sits watching, listening
eyes moving in the darkness
is releasing in her body, hearing-our in her blood
a score touched off in her perhaps
by some words, a few chords, from the stage,
a tale only she can tell.
Typically, Amber was used to her struggles being brushed off. She would just say it was a rough morning and nothing more would come of it. Andi didn’t do that; she could never just let something go. Amber was never sure if anything stemmed from being genuinely concerned or annoyingly inquisitive. Andi seemed to care about her in some way. She asked. It was Amber’s responsibility to tell.
Amber: just another morning of being woken up by the kippen parents’ speciality
Andi: that sucks
Andi: hey amber?
Amber: yeah?
Andi: i love you
Her heart fluttered as she read the message. There it was: the warmth spreading across her skin. Andi always had this ability— to serve as this source of warmth and light. Amber wore a smile as she reread it.
Amber: i love you too <3
But there come times— perhaps this is one of them
when we have to take ourselves more seriously or die;
She got dressed and headed out to reenter the bathroom to dry her hair. TJ was occupying the mirror space, the door wide open, gelling his hair. Amber drummed her nails on the doorframe, causing him to look over.
“What’s got you all smiley?” TJ asked, fingers still laced in his hair. “Not the exact sight I was expecting to see today, especially after the morning we’ve had.”
“Nothing in particular,” Amber shrugged. “By the way, I’d chill out on the hair gel. You look better with your hair less… crispy.”
“Shut up,” TJ rolled his eyes, continuing to slick back his hair.
“I bet you Cyrus agrees with me,” Amber spoke with a smirk smugly spread across her face, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed.
TJ removed his hands from his hair as soon as she spoke. “Why would you bring Cyrus up?” he asked, as if the answer weren’t obvious. It was Amber’s turn to roll her eyes.
“You know exactly why I brought Cyrus up,” she responded. “Your crush on him isn’t subtle, TJ. You always wear a goofy smile when you talk to him. It’s one of the only times I see you smile like that.”
when we have to pull back from the incantations,
rhythms we’ve moved to thoughtlessly,
and disenthrall ourselves, bestow
ourselves to silence, or a severe listening, cleansed
of oratory, formulas, choruses, laments, static
crowning the wires. We cut the wires,
find ourselves in free-fall, as if
our true home were the undimensional solitudes, the rift
in the Great Nebula.
She turned on the hairdryer, listening to its whirring as she dried her long, blonde waves. TJ tried to brush his teeth around her, despite the fact that she was definitely occupying the entirety of the mirror space. It was a routine that they had gotten robotically used to. TJ was ten months younger and two grades behind her. Being so close in age and school, their entire lives were spent getting ready together.
Amber continued her routine, going through the motions of daily life. Her mom had left for work, leaving the house in a calmer state of silence. She went back into her room to start working on her makeup, picking up her phone to text Andi once more. She wanted to offer Andi a ride to school; she wanted to spend as much time with her as possible. Her parents didn’t like her to give others rides to others who weren’t TJ.
No one who survives to speak
new language, has avoided this:
the cutting-away of an old force that held her
rooted to an old ground
the pitch of utter loneliness
where she herself and creation
seem equally dispersed, weightless, her being a cry
to which no echo comes or can ever come
Her parents wouldn’t know. TJ wouldn’t snitch or care. She texted Andi.
Amber: do you want me to take you to school?
Andi: oh, sure! thanks!!! <333
Amber smiled again. She wasn’t sure which made her feel better: the message back from Andi or the fact that she was doing something her parents specifically didn’t want her to do. She applied her light pink lipgloss and slipped it into her purse for when she eventually would have to reapply.
Amber: get ready soon. we’re stopping for coffee before school
Andi: kk!!
But in fact we were always like this,
rootless, dismembered: knowing it
makes the difference.
“TJ, I’m taking Andi to school with us! If you say a word to mom or dad about it, I can and will kill you,” Amber yelled, hoping TJ would hear her wherever he was in the house. He came out, fully dressed and ready. He grabbed his bookbag off of the couch and slung it over his shoulder.
“Why the hell would I say anything to mom and dad?” TJ asked, a brow cocked. “You act like I talk to them or something,” he spoke with humor in his voice. “Can I tell Andi you have a huge crush on her?”
Amber’s heart sank into her stomach. “What do you mean?”
Only: that is unnatural,
the homesickness for a woman, for ourselves,
TJ nudged her gently, as if he hadn’t just betrayed her trust with his words. “Come on, Amber. I’ve known you my whole life. There isn’t much you can hide from me. You know I’m gay. You practically pushed me to say it.”
“That doesn’t mean you need to push me to say it, TJ,” Amber’s voice carried the obvious tone of distress. “Not everyone caves as easily as you do. Regardless of whether or not I like girls, it doesn’t mean that my feelings for Andi are anything other than platonic.”
Her phone went off, a text from Andi. Amber couldn’t fight off a grin when she saw her name appear on the screen. Maybe TJ had a point. Maybe she did have a crush on Andi.
Andi: im ready!! just text me when ur on ur way <333
for that acute joy at the shadow her head and arms
cast on a wall, her heavy or slender
thighs on which we lay, flesh against flesh
“You get a big, goofy smile on your face whenever you talk to her,” TJ said. “I don’t see you smile like that very often. I… wasn’t trying to pry or anything. I thought you knew I knew that you were a lesbian.”
Hearing him say the word made the whole situation feel so much more real. “What would make you think I thought anyone knew?”
“You let me take books from your bookshelf when I’m looking for something to read. Except, you’re the kind of heathen who writes in them. I thought if you were trying to keep it a secret, you would hide your lesbian poetry collection that you’ve marked almost beyond legibility.”
eyes steady on the face of love; smell of her milk, her sweat
terror of her disappearance, all fused in this hunger
for the element they have called most dangerous, to be
lifted breathtaken on her breast, to rock
within her— even if beaten back,
stranded again, to apprehend
in a sudden brine— clear though
trembling like the tiny, orbed, endangered
egg-sac of a new world:
“I don’t have a collection of lesbian poetry,” Amber protested.
“And what book are you carrying in your bag right now?” TJ asked, causing Amber to shuffle through her book bag to pull out the copy of her current read.
“Dream of a Common Language by Adrienne Rich,” she answered, earning an expression that practically screamed I told you so . “Oh, shut up and let’s go.”
She made sure to text Andi that she was on her way, and received a string of heart emojis as a response.
Seeing the rising sun light Andi’s pretty face as she walked from her house to Amber’s car (only after she kicked TJ out of the front seat) was ethereal. Andi herself was angelic, with her short black hair that always permitted a strand or two to frame her face.
This is what she was to me, and this
is how I can love myself
as only a woman can love me.
“Hey, Amber,” Andi smiled sweetly. The book of poems was left on the passenger seat (TJ had been flipping through her notes in the book, and commenting on starred poems and highlighted passages). “I didn’t know you liked poetry,” she said, flipping through the book.
“I do,” Amber was clutching the steering wheel so tightly that her knuckles were becoming ghost-white. She dreaded Andi decoding her, finding out her blooming crush.
“Adrienne Rich’s Dream of a Common Language ,” Andi flipped to the dog-eared page. “ Transcendental Etudes . You know, I think I’ve heard of her!”
Amber’s eyes widened. “Have you now?” Do I just tell her now? Has she already figured it out? Maybe it’s best that she knows anyway.
“Yeah, I think we read a work of hers in English class. I think it was in the unit on gender and sexuality. She’s a feminist author, right?”
“She is,” she knew this was coming. “I have a whole bunch of poems by, uh, feminist authors in the bookshelf in my room. It’s a nice genre.”
“You know, I’ve been in your room before but I’ve never taken the opportunity to look at your bookshelf. I thought you’d be the kind to store trinkets and pretty things there. You didn’t give off the vibes that you were a poetry person,” Andi spoke with the cutest smile on her face.
“Maybe I’ll show you next time you come over my house,” Amber commented, pulling into the drive thru to order the coffees. “What do you take?”
“Mocha, iced. Please,” Andi responded. “I only drink iced coffee,” there was a brief pause. “Hey! Maybe I could come over later today after school? Your house tends to behave more when there’s company anyway.”
“Hey! Don’t blame the whole house!” TJ commented from the back as Amber placed the order. “Just because our parents are crazy doesn’t mean the rest of us can’t control our temper.”
“I would love for you to come over, Andi,” Amber said. “But don’t be weirded out by the notes and poetry I’ve collected.
Homesick, for myself, for her— as later, the heatwave
breaks, the clear tones of the world
manifest: cloud, bough, wall, insect, the very soul of light,
“Why would I be weirded out? Unless you have some weird erotic poetry collected, I don’t think I’d be thrown off by feminist poetry,” Andi laughed as she spoke.
homesick as the fluted vault of desire
articulates itself: I am the lover and the loved,
home and wanderer, she who splits
firewood and she who knocks, a stranger
in the storm, two women eye to eye
measuring each other’s spirits each other’s
limitless desire,
“It’s not just feminist poetry,” Amber winced. “It’s lesbian poetry. Adrienne Rich is a feminist, lesbian author and I collect feminist, lesbian poetry because I’m a huge dyke, okay?”
The words came out faster and faster, spewing out uncontrollably. She had called herself that word. The word her father used against her mother’s boss. A word with so much hatred attached to it. Yet, it felt right.
“Oh,” Andi’s mouth stood slightly agape. She looked at the poetry book in her hands. “In that case, can I borrow this book? I’ll give it back unharmed. I swear.”
Amber nodded.
a whole new poetry beginning here.