Fragments

I’ve imagined it so many times that the weight and the cold touch feel natural to me. But in my imagination, I always see what happens after.

Hush, my love For my feelings are not your burden

When the sunlight hits just right And the edges of your narrow world shimmer and crack You can catch a glimpse of forever And realize all at once That you have all you need And you are already happy

I ask someone to homecoming. She says yes. I talk to my librarian about him. She hugs me while I cry. I get a 100 on my English essay. I leave school for a funeral. He was sixteen.

The tidal wave returned to seaBut left behind its memoriesChildren embrace under the starsAre they us or are they ours?

It hurts when I wake up in the morning. But the boy gives me the nasty pill and I feel better. He gives me treats and he doesn’t get mad when I make a mess this time. He takes me out on a walk. He smiles but he smells sad. He doesn’t yell at me when I get excited and...

I did not think much of it then, but I soon learned there would be a term for me: a survivor. It is a heavy word. It implies that more people have died than have lived. That one’s life has grown valuable at the hands of a tragedy.

I carefully, ungracefully, and unsuccessfully try to pick up the slip of paper. I try again, but I can’t get my kitten mitten-ed fingers under the paper. I hate when this happens. I bend over to read the paper, and, thankfully, the words are on the top side. I read,...

Have you been to the place Where time stands still, And a lifetime is measured In the momentary lapses Of a softly thumping heart? It is the instant between Euphoria and tragic despair.