Lake Ida – Lana Valdez

At the playhouse, I imagined a lake creeping in
through the window. The folding chairs, collecting eight years worth of dust,
would be swept away, the red headed girls sent to dance
in their mothers’ bathrooms. The same mothers who grew bored of us
in The Goose and the Gander. I cracked my tooth in half on a stale
pretzel stick, and licked the blood, clean of salt. It was 2009, and I
imagined the lake opening its mouth and spilling into the parking lot.