A girl would let herself unglue. She’d come apart and blend in two. Those parts would walk then come right back. She’d see them off into the cracks. The tellings back would be the most of all she lost—someone’s ghost. To them the thing which couldn’t not be—the thing it was they had to see. Forgive them she had done the most. She’d missed the mark of their burnt toast. That deepest thing they’d feel inside which bore itself into their hides. Was difference between truth and lie. The swings she’d have to find and try. It tore her back and ran her down—she’d see the witch all over town. No matter how long she did cry. Those longing screams that she’d know why. The thing she hoped at last be true. It always was—it’s always you.
