One More Hour

I was disappearing.

But this time it was happening at a faster rate

wind whistling through rotted bones

The remnants of my skin hanging loosely like paper chains from my body

The whispering tree

the rustling of my skin sounds like a whispering tree.

I hope my death feels like the morning after a sleepover.

Crusted eyes and bleary faces, begging my mom to stay for just one more hour.

Knowing the answer already.

Behind her the car purrs and your siblings bicker from the back seat.

Next time honey, she says.

You turn around and run to your best friend, grabbing her lithe frame and tugging it towards you. Thank you for having me,

Thank you for coming.

My mom reaches her hand out for me to take it.

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