verbava все записи автора Shane Jones – Light Boxes

Am I dreaming right now, I shout. Can you check the bed to see if I’m sleeping.
No, you’re not dreaming, she yells back after going inside to check our bed. You’re standing outside by yourself with your thoughts. Your daughter has been kidnapped and your thoughts are torturing you. Sometimes you wake in the middle of the night from terrible dreams, but right now you are awake.

***

They held me and told me everything would be fine, that sadness would rise from our bones and evaporate in sunlight the way morning fog burned off the river in summer. My mother rubbed the kites on my hands and arms and told me to think of my lungs as balloons.
I just want to feel safe, I said.

***

I close one eye and reach my hand out and tear open the horizon. I pull the sky up and toward me like old wallpaper.

***

I’m so confused it almost feels calm.

***

Years ago when we experienced the season known as spring, my father woke me late in the night to show me the sun. He carried me to the top of the hill and told me to look toward the horizon where the pine trees stood. My father wiped the snow from my lashes, and there it was, a little marble of light behind the treetops.
That’s the sun, my father said, and with any luck it will melt this snow so we can have summer.
I imagined that the birds flew and carried a lantern and placed it there in the treetops, because that’s exactly what it looked like to me.
It looks like a lantern, I said.

***

I love you, said the girl who smelled of honey and smoke. And I love you, said February, feeling a little sad.

***

I wanted to write you a story about magic. I wanted rabbits appearing from hats. I wanted balloons lifting you into the sky. It turned out to be nothing but sadness, war, heartbreak. You never saw it, but there’s a garden inside me.

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