I don’t need you to protect me
from anything that the big, bad
doctor says.
People die.

When I was 5, I learned this after
Patrick died. Don’t you remember?
He came back to visit me and we laughed
and talked. My mama was afraid, so we
moved. Patrick didn’t visit me anymore.
Will you ever visit me?

We were all fork and spoon. You
unapologetically showed your teeth when
speaking and I was too well-rounded to fear
them.

I wish I had something else to remember you
by. People make fun of my gap-toothed smile,
ask me who did I get it from, then laugh.

I wish the bruise on my arm was still here
so when they ask who gave it to me, there
would be no laughter.