I.
I'm sitting here,
finally at home
My chest still aches
ribcage splintering outwards
like queen anne's lace opening up
like azidoazide azide in my lungs
like fireflies slowly blinking
like vinegar and baking soda rockets

Pen ink on my legs and
petals on the ground
petals at my feet
Rib cage splintered and
broken and
blooming cornflowers

II.
This second is good
I eat the chowder my mother made
and the air from the fan is cold
there is nothing bad in this second.
 

and what about the next,

the next,

and the next?

I will take them as they come

some seconds with warm tea

and thunderstorms

others, perhaps skinned knees 

and salt-streaked faces

but the second after that will be good

the next second will make up for it.

III.

Who I am without you:

Strawberry Lemonade and Barbell Callouses 

Hair curled with sweat and

my own gritted teeth

The taste of salt water and

my mom's fish chowder

driver's permit tests and

six-hour car rides

the clouds in the sky, 

and the smell of nail polish

Fireworks,

                   balloon animals, 

                                                 baseball caps.

I am still myself without you

still untied shoelaces and sidewalk chalk

still untucked sheets and open windows