The last time I saw Mary, or the last time during our childhoods, she wore a large, black hoodie.
“I have to go away,” she told me. 109 more words
11 hours, 38 minutes ago
“No,” I lied. My eyes dropped. “I’m sorry,” I added quickly. “Friend’s shouldn’t lie to each other.”
“Never,” she agreed.
“A man who calls himself Mr. 118 more words
1 day, 11 hours ago
Sammy slept in the chair outside her trailer. She had dosed off mid-story:
“Sometimes you have to . . .”
I waited. Sometimes she drifted off only to wake up five minutes later and pick it up again exactly where she left off. 131 more words
2 days, 7 hours ago
words made flesh
Everything gets slow, stops.
I reread the telegram.
I remember the squirrel dead
at the end of the driveway.
The body thrown up on the grass… 90 more words
3 days, 8 hours ago
Soon she will be no more than a passing thought,
a pang, a timpani of wind in the chimes, bent spoons… 109 more words
When someone dies, the clothes are so sad. They have outlived
their usefulness and cannot get warm and full. 179 more words
This is a picture I did not take of a box that used to be
a person that used to breathe that used to walk, a box that used to be… 502 more words
3 days, 10 hours ago