Let's talk about the light

because we cannot accept its absence

and because she held her darkness

so close to her chest.

Let's pretend we know where she went...

No, not the body. It's right there.

I could've sworn there was something else...

Let's pretend that's right here too.

My 8 year old self died on a beach.

I last remember the grit of St. Augustine sand in my teeth.

Mother's cigarette smoke -

     raspy laugh

     curly, red hair ablaze.

For my mother, 

only my ghost roams those dunes now. 

Still, no one mourns that girl like I do.