from Held by Adam Fieled
I.
I couldn’t decide.
She was mine
in a letter left beneath
my pillow—
“everything seems to be pointing at you”
being held
was hard
for me. I
did not like
being encompassed
by anyone. N,
deep in her
Scorpio soul,
wanted me, totally.
(out she rushed, crying)
black sleeveless shirt. tongues touching:
two tongues: pure weirdness. gross,
thrilling weirdness. but I couldn’t get
out of her mouth. all of me was in there.
tracing the radius— too limited
it started then—
has always been—
the charm of (an) Other—
stops possession-wheels…
(on a trampoline, Alexis’s yard)
“my brother’s home”
jealous scummy brother
who wound up with N.
“let’s go inside”
but Alexis was not total
I had abandoned total
possession: now I missed it—
Volkswagon Jetta
(get in, that’s it)
(was it even a kiss?)
Office boy, Post & Schell
Law Offices needed me
shock (swish, honk, screech!)
of wide streets,
downtown Philly summer
I remember walking
through Rittenhouse
everyone meant mystery
(fruit salad, $2.00, Korean vendor)
Stopping into Borders
reading of rock stars
(bodies, powders, TV)
(but I said no to pot in eighth grade)
Lee gave me twenty
new records, and then
learning licks
replaced girls,
encompassed me—
bending the third was fine,
vibrato was murder—
One night I went
with Andre to
an astrologer: front porch, vines, Roxborough,
coffee, desserts, darkness. she told me this:
Venus in Capricorn (cardinal earth) is sensual.
I liked to hear it; Andre’s mom was miffed at
the intrusion (the visit was for her.)
I would do sit-ups for hours,
masturbate to Claudia Schiffer—
imagining total sex,
dream dreamy dreaminess—
(also dreams of Dad chasing me)
always the same summer-ending:
maybe this year would be OK,
things fall into place,
perfectly, maybe, get ready—
II.
Shorts, tucked-in Polo—
(get up to run at 5 am)
I felt ready, equipped
for vagaries of Cheltenham High School
(strange sense of unease)
creep down hallways
strangely empty of
satisfaction
(john mcgrath makes jokes about my shorts)
(but I have hooked up)
there was chris
my new buddy
sagittarian
product of divorce
football after school
(I’m a decent wide receiver,
timid about tackling)
but why did flirting
with sue smith go nowhere?
somewhere along the line
I had lost my nerve
perhaps from hurting n.—
most days after school
acting as an understudy
to a fat kid with rich
parents, in good with all
the administrative big-wigs—
I had a sense of
being “out of it”
“whose life is it anyway?”
I hated the director
petty tyrant
five-feet high
thick-rimmed glasses
slicked-back hair
dumb exercises
I clammed up
wouldn’t talk
but on guitar
I had completed
a master’s thesis
on Eric Clapton,
minoring in Peter Green (no band, nobody,
resounding deadness
echoed against
my wails)
One night Chris & I
snuck out after midnight
went through people’s yards
(daring each other to piss on them)
(and we did)
Glenside Library, midnight,
“wish we had a joint so bad”
instinct to vandalize
(wading through twigs in a thicket)
(bungalows with dark windows)
next morning
we walked miles to get guitar strings
for me—
chris was pissed
(Cheltenham lost the football game that day)
back into silence
no hope of hook-ups
working the door
at the play
after waiting
to do it—
Old Farm Road had a second floor porch—
it was right next to the high school,
sound of the practicing school band,
smell of burning leaves—
(every night Cheers with Mom over dinner)
(lots of baked potatoes
I hated them
pork chops
frozen steaks
ben & jerry’s
no cable TV for us—)
cast party
I couldn’t
make conversation
struck dumb
by the fakeness
of everyone
(Holden Caulfield, I felt)
(home be 10:30 pm,