Your father is in the emergency room, she writes. I stand in their window with my wine glass in one hand and a cigarette slowly dancing in the other and try to figure out how I’m supposed to feel. Nothing comes to mind, seems appropriate. You wonder if the cries you hear are wolves that never were, but how little your sensible nature will help you the day their teeth have torn down the door. I wonder if my mother is scared, all alone in those woods, and I realize the backbone in me is all her doing. We do not frighten easily, we do not break. He tells me how his father came home drunk without keys and broke his ribs falling at the second story window.
Sometimes you have to let go of the things you cannot change, he says, as I blow smoke into the late summer evening.
How’s your book coming?
I watched an ex walk past me in the street today. This sweet little town, how nothing changes, still he looked like a stranger. I did not say hi. The water was colder today, the cliffs crowded, I forget to whisper gratitude into the sky but you know I mean it. We have only this short moment to make something extraordinary of ourselves. Don’t ever forget that.
Everyone knows you're going to live
So you might as well start trying
No comments:
Post a Comment