Early Confessional

The word I am looking for: unquiet — 
how at times, my grief-stung toes
used to sleepwalk into the TV room
as if looking for a consoling thought
to crawl into. There is a science
somewhere which talks about how a body
learns to handle itself in the absence
of other bodies. Once, many years ago,
I knew how to do this. It felt easy until
my happiness started to un-believe
itself. I was fourteen. The world
became as big as my room. Do not
ask me how that happened. I refuse
to talk about anything except the
incident today at the beach. I was
thinking about how much we get in return
for years of offering ourselves
to other peoples’ stars. The sky opened.
I thought I could make you out.

*published in The Paris Review

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