Crying for the Day

New student, sixth grade, a school with boys (!) in English we learn “harbinger,” I think: robin.

The teacher molds writing lessons around Beatles songs, “I heard the news today, ‘oh, boy.’”

How different from my posh, all-girls school where I didn’t slouch under cardigans or crush on boys, imagining Harlequin scenarios, where I don’t remember having any dreams at all, where days felt like I was drowning in static humidity, in mental chaos of sticky spider webs, all long, winding roads.

How adult I felt at eleven, how child I instantly became as death proved always the harbinger of change.

Summer swelter here.

Water snake decapitates

a struggling darter.


written for dVerse.

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Categories: dVerse

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