I used to think the sun
tasted beautiful, but then
you told me that “beautiful”
can only be how something
looks and I couldn’t fathom
how beauty could be so
confined.
Author of poetry and fiction
I used to think the sun
tasted beautiful, but then
you told me that “beautiful”
can only be how something
looks and I couldn’t fathom
how beauty could be so
confined.
Afternoon. Sun. Grass.
Baseball. Laughter.
But wait. Look up.
A plane. No wings. Plummeting.
Move.
CRASH.
But wait. Look again.
It’s his plane.
His. His. His.
Mine.
No. I can’t.
Change scene.
Grocery store. Checkout line. Paper or plastic?
Oranges thump across the conveyor belt.
A child cries. Annoyance.
But wait. Think again.
See him. Alive. Not dead.
Him. Him. Him.
Mine.
Find him. Go back.
Change scene.
Wreckage. Smoke. Coughing.
Silence.
Sweat-tracks through dirt-stained skin.
Breathless.
Find him.
Large metal debrisĀ screech.
Him. Him. Him.
Dead.