The Last One

by Rachel Howzell Hall

it feels like hope, which is strange, since the word ‘devour’ is the opposite of hope. But that’s where I’ll reclaim a piece of me that I can hold on to. I know this is true,

“Fast or slow, you won’t leave disappointed.” My pulse quickens, and my body heats. “That was a brag.” “Yeah, it was.”

Or am I being a petty bitch, which you know I embrace with open arms?”

My sorrow slowly burns to become rage.