i could almost hear your voice through the text. “you know how i feel. i can't say any more.” i know, i thought. but i'll push anyway.

it was warm for early october. my friends were outside talking in the dark. i was alone inside.

i told myself you had a choice. but of course you didn't.

leaves, red and gold. pale sunshine. late afternoon. was she special?

maybe not.

but at fourteen, strawberry blonde was my entire palette.

instead i just bring you coffee. i smile. you smile. but you don't know.

i found the sign behind a shelf. how long? must be decades. “cedar lake church of the brethren.” historic peace. rusted metal.

bluegrass, old church. brown grass, patches of snow. open ground, polished casket. some wore suits. i wore jeans. he wore jeans.

one funeral, many funerals. his house, measured for renovation. my house, sold. six acres, weeds and pine trees. my dog's old bones.

december, 1941.

those jagged edges were smooth and complete.

and then they were mine.

pavement, pain, blood. twenty years. not as bad. i can get home. why are you walking away from me? i can barely limp. you can see the blood.

do you still care?

he'll be cold and hungry tomorrow. i cried that night.

how are you feeling?