Difficult
14
I’m holding my best friend’s hand
and looking down at a boy
who used to sing all my favorite songs
in the hallway
at the top of his lungs.
He looks like he’s sleeping
but I know he’s not sleeping.
8 years later,
I still dream about him.
16
I’m holding my best friend’s hand
and looking down at her little brother,
a boy who I played ‘Apples to Apples’ with on the living room floor
less that one week ago.
He looks like he’s sleeping
but I know he’s not sleeping.
6 years later,
I still dream about him.
18
I’m holding my own hand
trying to stop it from shaking
as I look down at my Algebra 2 final.
I know if I don’t pass,
I’ll fail this fucking class (again)
and I won’t graduate.
It’s my last day of high school,
but it is also the last day I will ever see the guy I grew up with.
An hour later
I look down at a man
who used to chase me around the house
while singing obnoxious lines from Adam Sandler movies.
I have an overwhelming urge to hold his hand,
the one that pulled the trigger.
But I don’t.
He looks like he’s sleeping
but I know he’s not sleeping.
4 Years later,
I still dream about him.
19
I can’t feel my hands
as I refuse to look down at my grandmother
and stand in front of a room full of strangers
who share the same DNA as me.
I talk about butterflies
like the one on the chain
around my neck.
She looks like she’s sleeping,
but I know she’s not sleeping.
3 Years later,
I still dream about her.
22
I roll over in bed and touch his hand
and listen to his breathing as he sleeps
just to confirm
that he’s only sleeping.
Thank God I hope
he’s only sleeping.
I hope
he dreams about me.
© Gina Clingan 2017
From my book, Redford, which can be purchased here.
