Jane: A Murder (Soft Skull ShortLit)

We walk on air, Watson.
There is only the moon, embalmed in phosphorous.
There is only a crow in a tree. Make notes.
—

She was always 100% prepared, had always thought about the material, and—as was typical with her—had a basic insecurity that she never quite understood all she needed to understand.

She was very, very hard on us,
my mother now notes. But you know
how people are often merciless
on those they love the most

It feels different to mourn something without naming its name

Above her, the sun is still trying to burn through the mist. Strange, she thinks, how the sun so often appears as a pale circle, not the orgy of unthinkable fire that it is.

I go on and I don’t know whether I’m going into darkness or into light and joy,

She was sad, happy, triumphant, subdued. And I think I, in a way, understood. Maybe that was it.

Am I to live this life

with a blameless ferocity?

Then wait

for morning to bring

the bright sediment of things

into focus. It

comes clear.

For a moment I thought time might stop, and we could live together forever under my sheets.

Fears and doubts don’t disappear

just because it’s your birthday—

Are you certain the direction you’re taking

is the best for you—will make you happiest—