What Will Break Me Into

"if I Could Grow Wings, I Could Fly. Only People Can't Grow Wings," He Say's. "real Or Not Real?" "real," I Say. "but People Don't Need Wings To Survive." "mockingjays Do."

As Coal Pressured Into Pearls By Our Weighty Existence. Beauty That Arose Out Of Pain.

There's No Point In Comforting Words, In Telling Her She'll Be All Right. She's No Fool. Her Hand Reaches Out And I Clutch It Like A Lifeline. As If It's Me Who's Dying Instead Of Rue.

And Some Small Gnarled Place Inside Me Hated Her For Her Weakness, For Her Neglect, For The Months She Had Put Us Through. I Had Taken A Step Back From My Mother, Put Up A Wall To Protect Myself From Needing Her, And Nothing Was Ever The Same Between Us Again.

I'll Never Know What It Was He Wanted Me To Remember.