Micro

At the end, we slept in shifts indoors; the sun and the moon kept their secrets.

Mostly she imagines what it would be like to cry – cry! – and what her eyes would look like after.

They say, “I never know what’s next.” What they mean is, “When will it stop?”

My face felt rearranged, like I’d slept in an argument.

It was the fifth day of Ghost Month.

Her words vaulted at me in slow-motion, the letters slamming one at a time.

They’re not thinking about us at all, not measuring the impact of one moment against the weight of another.

just like in that drunk driving awareness ad that used to play on TV when you were little.

At first, we were concerned about the dangers, but then there were no children left to protect.

When we have all choked on the last of it, only they will remain to mimic us...