Firelight

“I suppose I did

love her,” Braelyn said.

A log crackled, spit

glowing flecks against

the dark. She might have

had more to say, but

not to us.

I sat with Ashley in

tree-broken moonlight

watching her sister,

drinking. Ashley leaned

close, shared my jacket

while the fire fell. We

cooked nothing and told

no stories. We sat with

Braelyn, watching embers

fade to ash.

March 11, 2024