Courtesy of Colette LaBouff.

The ruffled hem floats
as you spin.
Of them all,

the one you like
The ruffled hem, as you

spin, opens
around your waist,

in the air.
Red. You laugh.
Son, you wear

that dress
and less these days.


The teacher splits
the class in two—
boys, girls—and you

don’t know
where to stand—the boys
on one side,

the girls—in two.
The teacher points
to either side

of the room,
the boys
and girls,

and you—


The dog waits
at the edge
of the pool. You dive,

determined to
the bottom

in your body,
in your body, dive
deeper, the dog

watching from
the edge,
your clothes

at her feet where
you left them.