I am a child.
in a car
going to the Hargrove's
wanting to play in their yard
Wanting to see their daughter.
her straight hair makes me want to be held,
her neck makes me want to hold
I don't yet know the difference between the two feelings
We arrive to hushed voices.
the words, "I don't understand why." are whispered
I don't connect the words to anything
I like the yard.
full of holes to hide in
dirt which is perfect for building and fighting and rolling in
I see them through plate glass windows with tears on their faces.
I throw rocks at walls and no one stops me
turn on the hose to make a rushing river
I can see her window from where I play.
know it will smell like crushed flowers and soda
want to be there but don't know why
I am inside now, after lunch.
walk down the hall to her room
sit on her bed wishing she was there teasing me
I don't wonder where she is
I know that she is dead.
I think about her straight hair and her neck.
put my head on her pillow and breath her in
don't remember crying
don't remember leaving her room
Later my mom tries to explain why someone so loved would take their own life.
pretend to cry
pretend I don't understand
