The Weight of Water Read Online Free

class
    Speak to me, finally.
    And Clair asks about my hair –
    Why it’s short.
     
    ‘Is it because you’re a lesbian?’
    She wants to know.
     
    It’s true that
    Some boys have
    Longer hair than me.
     
    So, I decide to grow it.
    And wear a flower in it,
     
    So I won’t look
    Like a Polish lesbian
    Any more.

All Wrong
     
    Today I was told
    I have the wrong bag.
    Today I was told that
    My bag is ridiculous .
     
    I have looked carefully
    At the offending bag.
     
    It’s an ordinary satchel
    For school books,
    With sections
    For smaller items.
     
    Today I was told
    It is all wrong .
     
    I’m looking at the bag.
    I’m desperate to know
    What doesn’t work.
    But I just can’t figure it out.
     

Karma
     
    If I were back in Gdańsk, I wouldn’t be friends
    With a new girl either.
    If I still had Magdalena
    To copy homework from
    And sit with at lunch,
    I’d ignore a new girl too,
    Like we snubbed Alexsandra who stood
    Far enough away
    To be discreet.
    Close enough to be invited.
     
    We just ignored her.
     
    We played doubles, pretended not to notice
    She was holding a racket and
    Wearing shorts with pockets.
    Why did we do that?
     
    But we weren’t mean to her.
    We didn’t whisper and laugh,
    Avoid touching her in case we caught something.
     
    We simply ignored her.

If I Were on the Swim Team They Might See Me
     
    Sometimes I want to tear off my clothes
    And show them I’m the same
                     Underneath –
                     Maybe better.
     
    It doesn’t matter what I wear.
    I always look different:
    My clothes are too heavy –
    That much I can tell.
    And I have no real vision,
    I just don’t see what’s wrong.
     
    If I were on the swim team
    I’d wear a costume
    Like everyone else,
    There’d be more skin than fabric.
     
    If I were in the swim team,
    They might see me.

Name Day
     
    As I rub away cold sleep,
    Mama pulls out a box
    Wrapped in starry blue paper,
               A card taped to the top –
    Kasienka on it
    In neat script.
     
    I sit up in the bed
    And rip open the paper.
     
    Mama cheers: ‘Your own iron!’
     
    I want to stop unwrapping.
    I want to cry.
     
    What do I need an iron for?
               We already have one, which leaks,
               like the tap
               in the kitchen.
     
    When I take the box out of its wrapping
    I see Mama’s mistake – or mine –
    It’s a hair iron,
    ‘A straightener,’ I say,
    Genuinely joyful
    And read the box aloud:
                      Ceramic plates .
     
    Mama shrugs. I shrug.
    We don’t know if ceramic plates is good –
               It sounds good,
               Printed in bold, square letters.
     
    Later on, after we’ve lunched on fresh golabki,
    And I’ve straightened my hair,
    Mama, Kanoro and I march to the cinema.
    We gorge on sweet buttered popcorn and
               Orange sodas.
     
    We sit in the front row, me in the middle,
    Smiling all the way
    Through a sad film.

The Hunt
     
    They don’t have to say
               a thing.
    They just have to stare
    At my hair,
    For me to know
    It isn’t enough
    To impress them,
    Though it’s so straight now
    You could paint with it.
     
    Clair confirms that
    It is still too short,
    I still look gay –
     
    ‘Are you gay?’
     
    A paper appears in my locker.
     
    FYI: You smell like old meat.
     
    I hurry to the toilets to sniff myself,
    And when I’m there,
    Clair and Marie arrive
    With a gaggle of girls.
    ‘Can you smell something?’
    Clair wonders,
    And Marie holds her nose,
    And then the other girls too.
     
    They are hunting,
    Circling me to prevent my escape.
    They yap and snuffle,
    Jostle to be close to Clair,
    Covering their mouths
    To stifle laughter.
     
    I am a fox surrounded by beagles.
    They will eat me alive and spit out the fat.
     
    I am their prey and there is nothing
    I can do to stop them pouncing.

Maybe
     
    Leaning on the lockers,
    Chewing on a straw,
    Clair pretends she