Four Years to the Day Katherine Frain after and the hallways are darkened with smoke and the streets remember rain. I?m thinking about the price of an abortion and the price of three bruised pomegranates and the price of a sewing needle. I have finally been kissed. Through the blue curtains, some of this is trying to be snow. Failure on impact. Meaning it dissolves when hit. I haven?t tried to hang myself again. In front of the dark cars straying out, red lights refract like other children who came to school and set themselves on fire. When I say haven?t tried I mean haven?t tried lately. There?s a thick red rope wrapped around my door. The first boy who saw it asked if I liked to tie people down. Yes, I said. No, I said.
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