Lost Boys


Once, when I was seven, I think
I saved a boy’s life.

He laid unconscious, blood tinting the brook rusty orange,
The cold water rippling around his forehead.

We’d fought with twig swords,
Dueling Peter Pans on our fallen tree bridge

Until he slipped off the mossy wood and fell,
Forehead cracking against the muddy brown bark.

I ran out of Neverland panting, braids bouncing,
Calling for grown-up help.

He got stitched seven times and
Praised for big boy bravery.

But still, two years later,
He lied to his mother about

The black eye I gave him
For calling my sister a cow,

Made up a story about a bully
Boy on the basketball court throwing elbows.

Didn’t want to admit he got punched—
Or saved—by a girl.

And still, in another four years,
It was I who bled rusty orange dripping

Every month into the toilet thinking
I don’t wanna grow up.