Heart in your pocket

Happiness is like a little box, carved faces in the distance, dimples in the ground where you were lying, it won’t save you, not now, little boxes, all of them open, hinged, unhinged, fanged, ornate, piled up with pickled tinsel, happiness is a big advertisement for loss, an outrageous ideal, you already ate the edible arrangements and made yourself up like a blue dawn, heart in your pocket, you’re happy.

Late in the second trimester my dad died suddenly from a heart attack.

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