I'm afraid of dead things and semi trucks and heights and forgetting you after you die because you haven't left me anything. I still have nightmares about mom. Last night I saw her face and locked myself in my room before she could move. I woke up gasping as if morning saved me from drowning, and I picture myself still blonde in summer, waiting to be rescued by the shepherd's hook, prone at the bottom of the pool with sunken oak leaves and shrunken crape myrtle flowers and bees pressed by the water, trying to breathe the air out of
