I Live In A World Where Two

At The Tips Of The Feathers There Is Air And At Their Base: Blood. I Hold Up Bones; I Wish Like Broken Glass They Could Court Light....still I Try To Place These Pieces Back Together, To Set Them Firm, To Make Murdered Girls Live Again.

I Was Trying To Prove To Them And To Myself That I Was Still Who I Had Always Been. I Was Beautiful, If Fat. I Was Smart, If Loud. I Was Good, If Ruined.

Well, It's My Voice, So It's More Accessible That Way, And There Are Also All Sorts Of Things Like Plot And Timelines That Are Already Known Entities, So For Me, It's Very Different From Writing Fiction.

When The Music Stopped, It Could Have Been Forever Since We'd Begun. My Grandfather Took A Step Back, And The Light Grew Yellow At His Back. 'i'm Going,' He Said. 'where?' I Asked. 'don't Worry, Sweetheart. You're So Close.' He Turned And Walked Away, Disappearing Rapidly Into Spots And Dust. Infinity.

It Was Buckley, As My Father And Sister Joined The Group And Listened To Grandma Lynn’s Countless Toasts, Who Saw Me. He Saw Me Standing Under The Rustic Colonial Clock And Stared. He Was Drinking Champagne. There Were Strings Coming Out From All Around Me, Reaching Out, Waving In The Air. Someone Passed Him A Brownie. He Held It In His Hand But Did Not Eat. He Saw My Shape And Face, Which Had Not Changed-the Hair Still Parted Down The Middle, The Chest Still Flat And Hips Undeveloped-and Wanted To Call Out My Name. It Was Only A Moment, And Then I Was Gone.