Teren awoke with sunlight shining on his eyelids. He sat up and yawned, then heard a knock at the door.
“Come in,” he called sleepily. Cybille entered the room, then turned around and walked back out.
“You are not dressed.”
Teren rolled his eyes.
“It’s fine. I have a t-shirt and boxers on, you can come in.”
Cybille reappeared with one hand over her eyes.
“Your new suit is done, and I brought it up.”
“New suit? What new suit?”
“The one I measured you for last week. Remember? Your father wanted you to have it for when the guests arrive.”

Cybille sat in the kitchens, sipping a mug of tea, a small break from work. The door from the back walk was suddenly flung open, and one of the cook’s boys came in, soaked to the bone. Cybille raised her eyebrows. It was a sunny afternoon last time she checked, and the sprinklers weren’t on outside at this time of day, unless… She smiled into her tea as the cook came and began to dry her son off. The boy was complaining about “annoying brats” and “hooligans” and Cybille laughed under her breath. A sudden rain shower on a clear day sounded just like Teren, Hugo, and Jason.

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.

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

It was a long and arduous trek into town. But someone had to deliver the news, and the task had fallen upon him - storm or no storm, he had to get through...

He muttered to himself as he pushed his way through the storm.

"Lost...lost."

He was still but a half a mile from the outskirts of town when he thought he heard a faint cry for help. It sounded as if it was coming from a small grove of trees on the side of the byway.

1. Mundane

the bleachy grit of
Comet!
scruffs away at the
blood-red chili stain in my
father’s kitchen sink;

the washcloth is oozing and
I can’t breathe through
my nose—I think I’m
allergic to bleach—my skin
is turning splotchy red and
tingles every time I move

and no matter how hard I scrub
this stupid stain isn’t coming out.

2. Changes

I.
all of the red brick neighborhoods
I once loved
now seem empty
absent
withdrawn

The last several months have been full of adventure, heartache, joy, and learning to lean on the father as a few of my friends and I have spent time studying and living overseas together. Here are a few of my thoughts as our time drew to a close.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I.
there is
sticky air

and

the cool
blues and
yellow streetlights

II.
and then
the outline of
his driveway is
fragmented,

no

fractured
with intermittent
shadows

III.
further, his
cinnamon arm
reaching for

me?

or the air
behind my
head

The grass unfurls like a carpet all the way to the dusty road. We are playing, my laughter emerging in firecracker bursts. Clark has his baseball cars splayed out on the ground where we've trampled down the lawn with bare feet. He points to Joe DiMaggio and waves a freckled hand over his face. Joe is gone.

I hoot again, disbelief swirled up with my joy like on a painter’s palette. “How’re you doin’ that?”

He grins, and dimples sprout on both cheeks. “I ain’t gonna tell.”

I shake my head at him. “I’ll just look it up in a book.”

Death was never something to fear for herself, she knew. For all of her kind, the embrace of eternity had almost appealed.

There were so many, though, who depended upon her. She knew that this, too, was a hollow concern, for all things were taken into account. The moment her heart ceased to beat, her charges were out of her hands and into another’s. One just as capable, one just as worthy. The Hand would never choose one less than able to protect the sacred world. She herself had been honored, once she learned to accept its existence.