The last time

ahe wore the bracelet father gave her

was that Tuesday when we went

out and fed pigeons in the park. She held out the

moldy bread crumbs when we came to the fountain and watched

the birds twittering.

When she grew tired, she asked me to sit beside her

and read her a story, something she

used to do when Danny and I were smaller. Twelve and nine - yes, that’s

how old Danny and I were when the

world, they said, was getting a little bigger

than usual. Let’s make it smaller, they said. Make it something

that can fit in a box that

we can drag around and walk like a dog.

But in the park, I forgot all about these things because

my mother looked so pretty then,

smiling that secret smile of hers while

singing a an old blues song.

That day, she and I forgot about the rain

and how treacherous water really is because it swallowed Danny's

body whole, never leaving some of him for us to put our hands on.

This story ends with us realizing that there was really just the two of us,

all hopeful that this kind of peace was everyone else's.

I think at some point, she even whispered,

Come here, closer. But it could have been the wind. It

could have been many things.