Evening comes down slow. The trees don’t move. They just stand there. My hands still smell like smoke. It won’t come off. I keep thinking if I’d run back inside just once more— No. I don’t let that thought finish. I don’t light a fire. Not here. Not anywhere. Flames don’t mean warmth anymore. They mean someone sees you. Mama, I’m so cold tonight. Colder than the river stones. Colder than the place where your voice should be. I didn’t cry when it happened. I ran. I just ran. But the forest is quiet now. and there’s nowhere left to go. The house caught fast. Too fast. You were shouting something— my name, I think. I don’t know who did it. I don’t know why. I don’t know what we ever had that someone wanted gone. The wind moves through the branches. It sounds like breathing. I almost answer it. There’s frost in my lungs. Smoke in my sleep. Every time I close my eyes I see the door. I see your hands. Reaching. I should have— I should have— The sky goes pale. Not warm. Just lighter. I stayed alive, Mama. I don’t know if that’s something to be proud of. The birds start up like nothing happened. Like houses don’t burn. I was supposed to protect you. You said I’d be strong one day. I don’t feel strong. I feel empty. If you can see me— I’m still trying. Mama, it’s morning now. I made it through the night. I’m still cold. I’m still your boy. And I don’t know why I’m the one who’s still here.
