"Trigger Happy"

BY RAE STACHOWSKI

Damp curls lay flat against his forehead. 

For a moment, I consider keeping him 

just a little while longer,

but I’ve already overstayed.

Train doors close between us, severing 

the thin red string that binds him to me.  

I wind the loose end into a ball and tuck it in my pocket. 

Later, I will use it to crochet myself a heart  

to nestle in the dead place of my chest 

where the light never touches and nothing ever grows. 

It will eventually rot like all the rest.