Calamine Lotion:

madame sherri forest
chesterfield, nh

Calamine Lotion:

Thumb and One Forefinger, Tracing

Even though we didn’t itch,

at least not on our cheeks, we’d

steal streaks

of calamine lotion to draw lines

down our faces to our chins
and throats

just like we saw the Indians

do in the movies that were

always on the TV after Dad

got hurt at the mill.

We only watched them

on rainy days and when he wasn’t

in a lot of pain, and only if

we weren’t sent to our rooms

to lie on our beds and stay

still and quiet as the ceiling

until we were called

for dinner. 

Not knowing that it faded almost

as soon as we left

the mirror, we’d whoop

when the door eased closed

and only when we were far

enough away from the house

we couldn’t be seen

or even heard.  I’d braided

my hair to look like a brave

and even when I was seven

and shirtless I could believe

I was both: brave and an Indian. 
Bare-chested

I made a mud pie

with pee and dirt and plunged

my open hand into it and slapped

my heart like it was

the quivering whithers of a mare

stolen from another tribe

and needing a new mark

and a new loyalty.  And together

we’d ride the stolen broom

and only if we didn’t put it back

were we arrested

and slapped and settled

in the tub

and said to shut up and scrub.

Even with the water only up

to our thighs, there was enough to dream in

and between you and me

it was vast grass prairie and lost arrows

and tomorrow we’d scheme to get out

again and find every single one

and maybe the kitchen knife

we’d taken to sharpen the alder twigs

deadly, sent skyward with a green

homemade bow and yarn,
stolen too,

though you refused the pink string

until yours broke and the pull-
back crack was just like

in the movies, getting caught in all

that was quiet and paused,

and being grabbed by my braids

and hauled in for trial.  And even though

your hair was short and you could’ve

gotten away you waited

and we both went

to the firing squad together, backs

to the wall, calamine lotion faded

and streaked down our necks

caking in the sun while the martial

loaded her gun, while we looked

at the sun, turned completely
native

and waited.