by a contributor
from Asha Dore, author of How to Choose a Name:
I love you like you’re standing on a broken boardwalk, silhouetted against sunset, some beach dream. A seagull yawning. A shoreline skirling. A hurricane coming, clouds like grey bulbs rolling across the sky.
Hey there sugarpie, sweetpea, honeybear. Right over here, baby. Let me be your strawberry. Let me see your sweet face. Come a little closer. Look a little harder. Hold onto my eyes. I’ll be your petal, your candy, yours. Closer, closer, closer.
Whose voice told me my grandma died, my dad died, my baby died? Was it yours? Where is that voice? If I could touch that voice, I could reach past the moment it happened to touch the person I was right before. Who was that person? She is gone. I just realized she is gone. Where did you put her?
Mouth so wide an alligator could crawl out of it. Teeth, teeth, giant teeth. Ready to gobble you up. Ready to swallow the whole neighborhood, the supermarket, the mall. Groan on the edge of laughing. Laugh on the edge of fury. Ready and hungry and almost.
You are disappearing. I am disappearing. It’s okay to disappear. I love you. Goodnight.