this tiny perforation of a girl's life

you existed in a time before grief
before my heart had learned to grow so big

Sometimes I will go into my small wooden box of artifacts
the box that holds trinkets of childhood
demons of adolescence
secrets
The box that even my husband dare not open
because he secretly fears my middle name is Pandora

The box that holds your obituary
browned
crinkly from repeated folding and unfolding
I will open the crease and read over the tiny words that announced the day you died
That day in the early 90's when The Pixies were probably on the radio
as I drove recklessly around my small town and cried

And just like a classic movie blaring on a small television set somewhere
you come round
and I settle into this familiar ache
this tiny perforation of a girl's life