After Brainard

Poetry by Rachel Mehl & Jory Mickelson

I remember many first days of school, and that empty feeling

Joe Brainard

I remember gum in my hair, after getting off the school bus.

I remember white sweatshirts inside out.

I remember wearing shorts with sweatshirts with the cuffs cut off.

I remember touching the thigh high boots in the back of Shoe Pavilion and that sexy feeling.

I remember the pink strands of Big League Chew.

I remember that tight feeling in my stomach when my parents started fighting.

I remember trading my younger sister Halloween candy, being sure she ended up with all of my Tootsie Rolls and Tootsie Roll suckers.

I remember the scent of Pine-Sol and hot water.

I remember refusing to eat French toast when I realized that the bread was dipped in raw eggs.

I remember thinking fat people drank beer and skinny people drank wine.

I remember walking into art galleries with paintings so big I was afraid I’d fall in.

I remember the sound of a cassette tape clicking off.

I remember finishing a book, and then the dullness of real life.

I remember thinking If I held my breath every time I saw tampons or maxi pads commercial I would not start my period.

I remember the smell of rain in the cottonwood trees in early summer.

I remember watching Mr. Rogers putting his dress shoes back on, and feeling hollow because the show was over.

I remember my grandfather’s big ears.

I remember my entire sixth grade music class refusing to sing “The Sun Will Come Out Tomorrow” for the substitute teacher and how much trouble we were in.

I remember getting lost in mall parking lots.

I remember holding my breath when I saw alcohol.

I remember microwaving baloney and Kraft single sandwiches in the microwave.

I remember the figurine of a giraffe sitting in an outhouse in my grandma’s bathroom.

I remember wondering why Redbook magazine was called “Redbook.”

I remember being confused by the blond mermaid on the “Chicken of the Sea” brand of canned tuna.

I remember wondering what “make out” meant.

I remember leaf walks in the Fall.

I remember red felt-tip pens and drawing on my arms with them and getting in trouble for it.

I remember hating sex scenes in movies because I knew that afterward my mom would give me a lecture about the perils of premarital sex.

I remember that feeling of betrayal when the boys who were supposed be my friends put gum in the lock on my locker.

I remember thinking Sesame Street was a disappointing rip off of the Muppet Show.

I remember telling kids at church my cousin had a tattoo of a naked lady with big blue boobs, because it seemed so racy.

I remember seeing a mountain lion in the ditch by the road while riding the school bus, but no one believed me.

I remember the smell of my grandfather’s grey wool suit.

I remember thinking if I read my bible every night I would not start my period.

I remember my mother getting ready to go out on dates with my father, and me watching her put on her makeup. She was so beautiful.

I remember the embarrassment of having to shower for junior high gym class and the P.E. teacher saying to the class, “Everyone has different plumbing.”

I remember the dangerous sound the paper cutter made each time it sliced a stack of paper.

I remember my sister crying every night when my mother brushed her waist-length hair.

I remember in all the games we played with the neighborhood kids, we always pretended we were orphans.

I remember thinking once periods started you bleed every day until you died.

I remember thinking people who had their clothes dry cleaned were rich.

I remember, after Thanksgiving dinner at my grandmother’s house, all the women in the kitchen cleaning up while the men fell asleep watching tv.

I remember wondering how hard the wind had to blow, to blow you off course.

I remember looking at the sky and feeling a great loneliness inside me.

I remember camping in my backyard with my father and he turned on the portable radio to a show called “Hearts of Space” and I wondered if I would ever see that heart.

I remember the magic of clip-on earrings and clip-on ties.

I remember my mom rocking me on her lap in front of the Christmas tree at night singing every carol she could think of.

I remember crying in the janitor’s closet at church when I felt particularly redeemed.

I remember Zoloft, how it tasted bitter and stuck on the back of my tongue.

I remember girls with hair wet from swimming all day in the river.

Rachel Mehl (she/her) has an MFA from the University of Oregon. She has published poems in Willow Springs, Portland Review, Alaska Quarterly Review, and elsewhere. She is an editor at Floating Bridge Press.

Jory Mickelson (they/them) is a trans writer whose first book WILDERNESS//KINGDOM was the winner of the 2020 High Plains Book Award in Poetry. They are a 2022 fellow for the Jack Straw Writers Program in Seattle, Washington. Their work has appeared in The Rumpus, Court Green, Mid-American Review, Poetry Northwest and at other find literary establishments.