I wake up for a drink. I blink across the bed at red digits. It’s morning. She doesn’t say anything. She’s still asleep on the sofa with her mouth & gown open. It’s mourning. I move from the fridge past the cat gate. I shut it behind me. I sit down on the sofa. I swallow. I think about what I’ll tell when her eyes open. I think about what I’ll have told before her mouth, gown, closes. She takes my closest hand in her sleep, just like I don’t know. I start telling her. My other hand stops before my eyes.
The Stories of Breece D'J Pancake
Breece D'J Pancake