Where She Went

The electricity in the air has changed; it’s like you
can smell the ions dancing. “I still wake up every single
morning and for a second I forget that I don’t have my
family anymore,” she tells me. “And then I remember.
Do you know what that’s like? Over and over again. It
would’ve been so much easier . . .” And suddenly her
calm facade cracks and she begins to cry.

the lava leaking out, this great explosion of what, I guess to her, must look like grief.
But I’m not crying out of grief. I’m crying out of gratitude.

But still, I listened for the sound of her voice.