I don’t know what’s lonelier: the lack of skin
in my throat or how I keep googling bulletproof backpacks
or how, after three decades, my sister’s grave still hasn’t grown
larger than a shoebox.
I don’t know what’s lonelier: the lack of skin
in my throat or how I keep googling bulletproof backpacks
or how, after three decades, my sister’s grave still hasn’t grown
larger than a shoebox.