I thought I was dead. I wished I was dying. My poor mother! It was her heart that eventually killed her. This part of the river is popular for suicide attempts. But what if I can’t? I kept thinking. What then? Small gray birds from last night’s dream flapped in the bushes. I needed an introduction to myself. A woman who looked vaguely familiar was playing an invisible piano. Those Parisians, they all wanted to see her. Rain started falling, and a good thing it did, full of smiling fish and neon swirls and squiggles.
Howie Good is the recipient of the 2015 Press Americana Prize for Poetry for his collection “Dangerous Acts Starring Unstable Elements”.
Your One Phone Call 