“The trees near her showed where the thing went by. They were marked with dead patches. I used to wrap her up carefully in poems from top to bottom and made her poems even when I was holding her in my arms. Then, even when I held her. I can’t. Even then I made poems, even then. If you’re looking for glib talk go find it in hell. Futsi screaming at me tears run down into his mouth. “Why didn’t you protect her?!” I turn, without one thought, thoughtlessly toward her and hit the blank that’s al...l that’s there, not even the memory. They’re not memories they’re past moments that suddenly fill me like pregnancy. I see what goes with her like a series in a scrapbook and from every frame she has been removed. I see what she would do, say, each what piled on top of the other growing brutally sharper until the sweetness impales me from inside out. Bayonets me from inside, and scalding grief gushes from the rip in my body taking out with it all my life. What an idiot I was not to see that life was handing me gems.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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