Dead Reckoning

Recall that summer so cold,

your young friend newly dead,

but still walking in your dreams,

a tainted lullaby spinning

against a backdrop of projects and grime.

In dreams, your friend’s face remained smooth,

but chill as pewter.

 

The last time you saw your friend,

she told you her body was a bag of sand.

One of the machines attending her clicked

and whirred conspicuously.

“I just want to jump again,” she said.

“Jump,” she repeated. “That’s all.”

 

When you left that day,

you drove long below a vast gray sky

toward some crooked mountains,

but failed to reach them.

 

—Mitchell Hegman