Alone, Pt. 2

Now I whisper to the wind about

my broken heart

failing in slow motion

not a subtle art

toss the stones in the river because

I am

I am here alone at the end

Magic

"But how does it work?” Kitty asked him.

“The stone will glow," the King answered.  "It will be quite obvious to you.”

Frowning now at the bracelet, Kitty returned, “How does it do that?”

“It is magic, of course,” the King replied, causing Kitty to raise her eyes sharply to him.  But the follow-up questions that response prompted—and she had a lot of them—never reached her lips, because Leo broke in. “Your majesty," he said, "we must be leaving."

Unfinished

And when I choose to come here again                                                                     

will it snow how it did in my dreams

                        will I be

a story worth telling

                                    because the sadness—

it crackles in the night

           

for you           

the mistake worth regretting

                                                the faraway voice        filled with belonging

do you see where eternity ends

did you know that you were my friend

this planet a box that holds me

Waiting, Pt. 2

January 9, 1983

Dear Diary,

Today we went to church.  Yuck!  We bought some rolls and French bread after church.  Mom got a pass today.  She came down and took Steve and me out for ice cream.  She said she might have to stay one more week after this.  I hope not.

Consequences

Kitty now saw that the location of the Last Window was not coincidental at all.  Her father had told her he was born in this town, but in a way he had been; here was where he had begun his life as an Outlier.  When that life began to unravel he’d come back to the Last Window, in the hopes that he could find a way back to the world he’d abandoned.  That was why Kitty lived in the same city as the Last Window, and that was why they had found her father dead just across the road from the soccer field.  He hadn’t committed suicide, or died of exposure. 

He’d died trying to return to his world.

Conversation with George, Pt. 4

What if I loved you?

I ask him.

What if I loved how you

think about molecules

racing,

or slowing,

about color,

about owl calls in

the night?

Because I know you

do.

You are no weapon.

You are a boy who listens

to the flow of water in a

stream,

who once had a love affair

with equations.

We could end the war,

rather than start it.

George is quiet for a moment.

Well, he says, you will look

up the difference between

reptiles and amphibians

now, so there might be

something in all of this.

How much we will see.

There are still the dolls to

contend with.

Wondering

is the rain your final call

because I am wondering what this was for

           

why you ever loved me

why you do not anymore

there is no witness here

only ghosts of words that nudged into breath

           the shape of a fool      shivering and wet