In the early hours of morning, the smallest birds awake for a while, Sara tries to forget her nightmare.
She sits on her step smoking. Watching the coal brighten in the slightest wind.
Sara can’t put her finger on how, but cigarettes help her breathe. Not the ten thousand chemicals. The nicotine. The burning and inhaling of pure tobacco.
She apologizes to the chickadees as her toxic blue curls float toward their nest. She apologizes to her neighbors who might half wake and stumble for their own hidden packs.
Sara sends explanations for her bad behavior on the gentle streams. Hoping that one day she will be blessed with enough courage and peace to quit.