Months To Years Winter 2019 Months To Years Winter 2019 - Page 11

“I would leave your house,” my father said, “and I worry that I will never know how much you just be amazed at what you were doing. You were were alone. We were all there, of course. Your superhuman,” he said. best friend Andy came by and played guitar for you. Your mother lived on our couch, and your On the first day I did not have to move your body, grandmother came over every chance she got. My I knew I couldn’t do it even one more time. I lay parents were never farther than a stone’s throw next to you in bed and cried. Pain, somehow held away. I was right beside you, in our bed. I made off until just that moment, announced itself and my body like a chair to prop you up, to help you began to migrate around my body. From then, breathe, holding you, singing to you, whispering there would be no more lifting. No more hugs love. We were all there for you, with you. It was during transfers. No more of our dancing those like waiting for someone to be born. In the end, steps we’d learned so very well. you did it all by yourself. Nicole Hardina is in the weeds of writing a book about the 100 smallest towns in Washington State. Her work can be found in Proximity Magazine, The Seattle Poetic Grid, and The Bellingham Review. She is the recipient of an Artist Trust grant for her memoir in progress. 11