But
we can do something about that, now.
Can’t
we.
The
fact is you’re a shocking wreck.
Do
you hear me.
You
aren’t all alone.
And
you could use some help today, packing in the
dark,
boarding buses north, putting the seat back and
grinning
with terror flowing over your legs through
your
fingers and hair . . .
I
was always waiting, always here.
Know
anyone else who can say that?
My
advice to you is think of her for what she is: one
more
name cut in the scar of your tongue.
What
was it you said, “To rather be harmed than
harm
is not abject.”
Please.
Can
we be leaving now.
We
like bus trips, remember. Together
we
could watch these winter fields slip past, and
never
care again,
think
of it.
I
don’t have to be anywhere.