When You’re High You Never

Returns down the mountain are quicker than the ascent, you run hand in hand and her eight-year-old body squeals with delight. Come morning everyone sleeps a dreamless sleep under twisted mosquito nets. You watch hippos leap in the water and spend the whole drive home with African stinging nettle burning along your thigh. 

You still haven’t the words, haven’t the capacity for what it all means. She writes you from Manhattan and asks when you’re coming home, but what she’s really asking is when will you land 

and

the thing about it is, 

You’re not sure you truly will.