Wondrous

I sleep too little, but wake alert: April magic. He says let's make a map of the city and go see it, and you wonder which parts of the city it might be possible to see like they're new. You wonder which parts of yourself. 

In Minneapolis, a judge reads words off a paper, and they do not bring a life back, but they offer a sigh of relief. We breathe where he could not. There is cheering in the street, and a strange silence after. You go for another run along the river, cannot get enough of the air in your lungs. Think of your freedom and the great injustices that put you there. America, I chose you. My room begins to empty. I carry the plants gently to new windowsills. We live our little lives, within the enormity of what it is to be human, what a strange wedge. 

It is over.
It has only just begun.