born yesterday but stayed up all night


Milwaukee at dawn.

They were unprepared for the squalling, sniffles, small screams, the bundled misery. (Parents didn’t know she needed to pop her ears). I reached over, fixed the child, but still didn’t sleep, mind furnished with too many crooked curiosities, matching floral sets of regrets limned in the light of painful neglect. I wrote out a letter before I left, but didn’t receive even the barest politesse, an acknowledgment back. So self ethereal, my gestures made so pointless, so invisible to archaologists, history-less, the plane felt like a casket and myself a misfit, unwanted ghost, passing by the country at heights too rarified to survive. Landing was the last thing I thought about. Landing or getting to the other side.

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