Laurie's hand is on my waist. We're sitting on my grandmother's quilt in the den, watching the nature channel. Her french tips are digging into my side, but I don't say anything.

She turns off the TV and looks at me. "Milena, mi amor."

"Laurie, my love." I play along, even though my family speaks Portuguese, not Spanish. She looks serious, so I find something behind her ear to stare at, because Laurie hates when I don't look here in the eye. It's a dusty santa ornament, still on the mantle, even though christmas is long gone.

"Milena, I told my grandmother that I'm gay." She pauses. "Go to prom with me. Please."

"Can we talk about this later?" I see her eyebrows raise in the peripheries of the santa ornament. My voice shakes. "We never get to be alone, I don't want to ruin it." The mood lightens. She kisses me. I can feel it communicate that prom or no prom, we're going to be okay.

"Merda." Our lips seperate like repelling magnets. "Damn it, Milena!" My brother is in the doorway, his girlfriend Rosana two feet behind him. 

I panic. "Jesus, Laurie! What was that for?" The french tips are back in my side. "What are you, a lipstick lesbo?" I laugh too hard, and push her off. Laurie knocks the santa as she runs out of the room.

My brother begins to laugh, too. I pretend I'm not about to cry.

We play Mario Kart.

Rosana wins.

The girl is red-cheeked, 

her lashes wet.

And everyone can tell,

Her emotions got the best of her head.

She thinks it'll go away,

Like pimples or the oily sheen.

In a few more years,

She'll stop being their crybaby queen.

Oh, sweetheart,

you know not what I know,

this is one trait of yours,

that'll never go.

You'll be better at hiding,

Memorize tile in the bathroom,

but you have to use water,

to make a flower bloom.

Caring too much isn't your fault,

it's what you do with that feeling,

and you, my dear,

will leave the world reeling.

There's a midnight sunburn,

from my time down south,

where you kissed me,

left your mark like a cottonmouth.

I've been bitten,

I've been hooked.

Caught in that moment,

when you didn't stop to look.

Strange deeds,

happened when I wasn't looking,

how'd I miss the smell,

of your animosity cooking.

You say we were a comet,

say you don't want to break up,

that's there's no alternative,

I blink off my makup.

I gave you a piece of my heart,

Tried to pack it in bubble wrap,

not let you know,

what small bones you could snap.

If what I said wasn't,

as glittering,

it's because it's easier,

to be blistering.

And we never started bickering,

because while you were loudly simmering,

I became small,

my shouts became whispering.

So I leave the building,

pride bent out shape,

because I asked if we could stay,

and I saw "no" on your face.

And I sit on the hill,

grass pricking my feet,

a daytime sunburn,

forming on my cheeks.

The first mother carried her child on her back, soft skin wrapped in rough cloth, arms free to find food in the earth. The first child slept on her stomach. The world was large and wild, and those moments of sleep were enclosed in love, in warm arms, the smell of newly picked fruit hanging low in the air.

Yet days end, and children grow, and the world remains large and wild.

Too soon, a stomach is no longer a place for sleeping, and the first mother weaves the first blanket for her child. And threads enclosed them in love.