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BEST FRIENDS, OR CARROT JUICE AND BRANDY

Caroline Klewinowski

 

She tells me she’s moving out, going upstate

tears swell in my eyes

That house

holds a pivotal place in my subconscious

the way my own apartment does

Her walls don’t hold my dark secrets

and deep depressions

but euphorias

and the end of an era

The hole ridden walls and

dust delite

were the nexus

of my delinquency

and the death of my childhood

 

 

She dreads that apartment

for the suicidal thoughts

the addiction

the neglect

the pain and tears

broken bones and internal bleeding and

abuse

I run to it

for the friendship

the loyalty

the comradery and compulsion

love and sex

the blood bonds and

obsession

That apartment and its experiences

came too late in my life

and

only for a year

but it's fleetingness makes it so valuable

like auroras and

blood moons and

the popping bursts

over a city on the eve of Independence Day

You can never tell if it’s gunshots or

fireworks

 

 

We cry together, she says she doesn’t have a home

but she has one in the friends she’s made in that house

Birds of a Feather

 

It hits me on this cold spring night that we might not be a group of friends at all. In the midst of a high paranoia this realization calms me, though it should startle me that even after all the hours and late nights we spent together, we’re not together at all. When we run up hills in a skein in the dark towards the city, I see we’re just a lost flock of individuals trying to find our own homes when we’re forced to fly to homes where our fathers beat us; to homes where our mothers curse us; to homes where our siblings ignore us. What we have is temporary. We use one another to guide ourselves. We’re not a family, though we might look and act like one, we’re all just pushing off one another to get somewhere. “I don't want to go home,” an axiom among us, so we all stay together lost in a dark park delirious, paranoid, high, cold, sleep deprived; but not home. We wander not knowing where we’re going and where we’ve come from, but we’ll stay together because that’s all we’ve got. It might seem like a covenant, but all of us know that any of us would jump at the chance of a better life and never look back at the rest. We’re a hostel of a family. A wayward station. A trucker's stop. Hitchhiking travelers. A flock.