Chalk Street by Lizzie Kearney

The idea that we’d

grow up anything

but together

blew my mind.


The idea that my


would be a place

to smoke dope

rather than

stare at sidewalk chalk



seemed more than improbable

but rather impossible.


Yet, it’s one of the rare frosty

summer nights

and my feet are planted on

either side of the Jose Cuervo.

And you’re watching

from across the


as I lie to a boy

who will

die within the week.


The idea that

we’d be anything but


never ceases to

amaze me.


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