Graham, chessmaster's son, you make me think of warm
And crumbly things, you're brown all over,
Woodgrain like the soldiers on our board, and polished, too.
I'm ten, and you are twelve—that's almost grown.

I don't care for chess, especially, I'd rather dance
But it makes my father smile to say I play and so I do
Now you are my chess club secret,
I'm fond of secrets—this one makes me smile.

I have my first dream
About a boy—it's you, and a rowboat, at my house.
I'm lost in the water, and it's dark—I call your name -
(I'm a maiden in distress now, this is what we maidens do.)
You rescue me and my pet loon, just before we are devoured.
The Patterson Lake Monster, (who looks like a giant pike)
Would have gotten us if you had not arrived.

Three moves to beat me is all you need, but still,
I don't mind.
I'm learning that losing to a boy
Can have its own rewards—whatever they are worth.
And defeat can be a snack, with apple juice in the afternoon
In the library basement,
To hold me over until I learn to win.