Build (me.)

I hold my sister’s hand as we walk in the frigid December air and think, I died once. (I know how to think these things with a straight face and not breathe a word.) I was young and scared, I think, but I had not been innocent for a long time.  The wind does not howl…

After (you.)

There’s wind. It’s the 28th of December and the phantom pain of losing someone precious before knowing them is fresh (losing you/ an angel/ a child/ a son.) Sněžka, I think. I go out into the rain and the wind. Sněžka, again. There is no other mountain on my mind but Sněžka. The metro (subway/train/underground/tube/métro) is (isn’t) empty….