Crackers and Happiness

I am a roll of crackers Half eaten, crumbling The rest of me lazily eaten On a dreary afternoon When no one was talking And no one was listening. I am that long, purple dress That just fit, sweeping against My ankles, and that glittered In the dim lights In his eyes. I am ink smeared on the heel Of Steinbeck’s hand As he scrawled off that last word That I can’t pronounce because it’s in Hebrew. I am the heaviness of my mother’s hands And the streaks of white in my father’s hair And my sister’s little laugh just freed From that eight hour bottle we call school. I am cumin, cilantro, fennel, salt Pepper, chili, cardamom, turmeric. I am the fog that rises out From Ammamma’s stove When she calls us to dinner. I am Jason Bartlett’s only home run Of the 2009 season, hit against The Baltimore Orioles, left center field, Before he moved to San Diego, Leaving us with the dirt Of his slides into second. I am that silly brass trophy, Sixteenth place, and the broken plastic buzzer Clutched tight, pulsing, With the hot patience of a meet, Of a question. I am my father laughing weakly And my mother’s sprinkling joyous tears When the results came back. I am a leather bound notebook With a red sewn-in ribbon To mark the page. I am a pile of sand on a beach In desolate dusk, in the rain. I am my best friend who couldn’t tell Her parents about the man in the car, Who told me instead, Voice choking on weakness. I am the words a certain boy won’t say.