Spells for Forgetting

by Adrienne Young

in that single moment, time split like a fraying rope into a before and an after.

those nights in the woods were some of the clearest memories I had from before the fire. They were still painted in saturated colors, filled with breath even now.

was a moment split down the seams, clumsily stitched closed by fourteen agonizing years.

The post office was a tiny building tucked like a book between the bakery and the hardware store,

Samhain was right around the corner, and I could smell the decay of fallen leaves and fermenting fruit in the air. It was the season of death.

This pain inside me was like broken glass clutched in a fist.

Since then, every day had been colored with the glittering light of it dragging me in its wake, pulling me beneath its surface. And I didn’t care. If this was what it was like to drown, then for the rest of my life, I didn’t want to take another sip of air.