by John L. Stanizzi

There was an ultrasound, gray smears of
what she said were nose, mouth, and her smile
floated below eyes that searched for something
like a blessing, though there was none there,
and other children glided by, sideways glances
and instinct that kept them moving, and conversation
that stopped now, only silence and the photo
held between us, and white blossoms on all
the trees in front of the school, and I had
to come up with something that would release me,
but her lips smiled and I was relieved, not because
of reconciliation but because an understanding
had flowered in the air and for that small time
we whispered shouts of forged joy, the bell rang,
and a week later in a text she wrote
hope ur good LUV UUUUU lol
by the way you’ll nevr guess i lost it

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