The Unselected Journals of Emma M. Lion: Vol. 6

by Beth Brower

I did, lingering over the bright spots as if I were holding my hand over the flame of a candle, moving it back and forth, feeling the warmth puddle against my palm.

We shared a look, one honest, bare moment of joint determination—to survive the vicissitudes mortal life affords. Namely, other people.

Oh, how words love Hawkes. They wrap around the unexpected inflections of his voice, eager, offering their best cadence and lilt and soul. They know him well, and he them. Almost as if words are the one thing in his life he has never had to push away. He speaks words the way they pound in my chest. And it feels like a miracle, finding such a dear part of oneself walking around in someone else’s body.

This won me a laugh that sounded like it was caught into the air with a kite.