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Fight or Flight by Jessi Harrison

(for Dana…)

My first reaction is to run.

There is no fight. But I can fly.

 

For this, I am sorry.

 

You fought.

You built boxing rings

out of test results. Bowed

gracefully before each match.

Showed your opponent no mercy –

but made sure each hit was clean.

 

Me? I took a box of matches

to the mats the morning I woke

to permanent emptiness. I made the hospital

dance in gasolined blue/orange flames against

the grayest November sky ever etched

from Eden’s rough draft.

 

Hey God – you fucking missing a blueprint?!

 

I took your trophies out of the case

& bet it all on forgiveness.

 

Almost doesn’t count.

Almost is so close to complete.

Almost – is fucked.

 

Like – you almost had it beat a third time.

Like – you almost found happiness.

Like you almost won.

 

Like you almost knew how much you were loved.

Like we almost made it clear.

Like you almost stood a chance.

Like it was almost alright.

Like I almost said goodbye.

Like I’ll almost see you tomorrow.

Like it almost doesn’t hurt.

 

Like you are almost still here.