Caislín had indignantly clasped his cloak around his shoulders and sighed. Her chilled fingers clutched the eagle’s wing that connected the golden braided loop on the other edge of his cloak. He may have sensed her hesitation to let him out of her sight, and enveloped her small hands in his weathered ones. He wasn't that much older than her, but his callused hands were those of a man of old age. They were gloved in soft black leather and were warm. She leaned her forehead into his chest and swallowed down her tears.

Cheri knocked on Jonathan's closed door.

“Come in.”

She walked in and eased herself slowly onto the side of Jonathan's twin bed.

“Hey Mom.”

“Hey Kid.”

She poked his nose and smoothed an imaginary wrinkle off of his pillowcase.

“I wish we didn't have to leave you all alone while you're sick.”

Jonathan blinked back his disappointment.

“I know. Just give Gramps and Nanna a hug for me and tell Uncle Thom I said happy birthday.”

“Will do. We'll try not to stay for more than two or three hours. Call me if you need anything, 'kay?

Play this, please: lugubre, brioso.

It is an ode to Daniel.

When I write personal essays, I am often spurred by losses. They are grits of sand under my eyelids, obscuring my vision and obsessing me until I finally weep up a pearl.

I write when people are dead. I write when people break up with me, or I break up with them. I write when a friendship crumbles, or when I've left my hometown, or when my permission to remain in a foreign country has expired.

The whole kingdom was drunk on excitement.
The dawn was the most beautiful, seeming to be a good omen to the rest of the day. The horizon lightened until it was sapphire blue, which happened to be the kingdom’s virtue color. The sun blazed overhead and burned away any clouds that would ruin the ceremony.

I might've seen you
lying on the grass
But I passed
The sun shone on you
As you reclined back
But that was all
I could catch.

And the leaves were crisping golden
At their edges
Rusty, choked
Like the paint flaked off my nails
Clinging to your coat

For once upon a time
I'd have been
Straddling your lap
Brushing the fall
From the strands of your hair
Watching while you laughed

I saw you today
Unrecognizable,
and yet so familiar,
crimson and blue,
brown and tan,
building a wall,
and a bridge
on my heart.

My,
how far we’ve come!
I miss you sometimes,
but not too often
Just in the night
when I dream,
I dream of you,
of laughter
of love
and of moments shared.

Note that I need you to see right away: Do not question my sanity. Do not question. Do not ask me why. I will not be able to give you an answer.
Hehe. Enjoy.
~o0o~
No one knows the origin of the Turnips. No one knows how they came to be. No one knows the extent of their rich, intricate culture.
And no one knows why they're a thing.

The tips of my fingers were numb and hard as rock. Frozen wisps of white frost clung to my fitted, brown leather trench coat like velcro and settled comfortably on the white beanie my grandma had knitted me before I left for school. She had figured that New York winters merited the accessories we usually scoffed at in California. It was nice, then, with my long, straight hair hanging down my neck over my scarf, as I stood rooted to the snow powdered street just in front of my car. The windshield was grey with ice that had grown over the glass in the four hours I had been in class.

A month goes by
til days are filled
with friends
who lean their heads
on you
and you
grab hands
and squeeze

A month goes by
til mouths are filled
with laughter
vibrant
and
voracious
bursting

A month goes by
til you lie back
and stare at the split
in the ceiling

and then you say
home
and mean it
as the smiles
are passed round
for the stealing.

Rolling hills are lac'd with twinkling lights
This sleepy night in California
Curving roads that tease with many sights
Of places which I can't show to ya

Only rumors of a pretty beach
Sprinkled palm trees under glaring sun
People smiling at my southern speech
As I articulate more than one

Got my Texas tee and denim skirt
Topped with forrest green knitted sweater
Nothing but a country bumpkin squirt
Enjoying California weather