If I Shut My Eyes,

But I Know I Would Not Go Out. I Had Taken This Time To Fall In Love Instead — In Love With The Sort Of Helplessness I Had Not Felt In Death — The Helplessness Of Being Alive, The Dark Bright Pity Of Being Human — Feeling As You Went, Groping In Corners And Opening Your Arms To Light - All Of It Part Of Navigating The Unknown.

I Knew Something As I Watched: Almost Everyone Was Saying Goodbye To Me. I Was Becoming One Of The Many Little-girl-losts. They Would Go Back To Their Homes And Put Me To Rest, A Letter From The Past Never To Be Reopened Or Reread. And I Could Say Goodbye To Them, Wish Them Well, Bless Them Somehow For Their Good Thoughts. A Handshake In The Street, A Dropped Item Picked Up And Retrieved And Handed Back, Or A Friendly Wave From The Distant Window, A Nod, A Smile, A Moment When The Eyes Lock Over The Antics Of A Child.

Once Released From Life, Having Lost It In Such Violence, I Couldn’t Calculate My Steps. I Didn’t Have Time For Contemplation. In Violence It Is The Getting Out That You Concentrate On. When You Begin To Go Over The Edge, Life Receding From You As A Boat Recedes Inevitably From The Shore, You Hold On To Death Tightly, Like A Rope That Will Transport You, And You Swing Out On It, Hoping To Land Away From Where You Are.

I Stared At Her Black Hair. It Was Shiny Like The Promises In Magazines.

Hey, Ocean Eyes,” My Father Said. “where’d You Go On Us?