How To Live

Anna Crandall

Know this:

everyone you love

will die.

So when a blood vessel bursts in your best friend’s brain at 45

and you say, “I can’t believe I might never see him alive again,”

know it was always going to be that way. Bedridden and unable

to speak his own name. Who knows what happens in his mind?

Is that living? Your hand in mine makes a little more

space in what we think is our lives.

So let’s steal a little more time.

Go out in the dark and find

our bodies made of light, sifting

through the match heads in our

outlines to hope we can define that

which is worth it.

A sealed envelope arriving by post,

the first scratching of green against frosty soil;

a productive struggle towards the ache

of being here.

An orchestra plays in our bones as we try

to reach the highest note.

It’s only temporary.

Music echoing after in a way

that makes us think:

it meant

something.

Anna Crandall (she/her) is a writer and educator pursuing her MA in English and Creative Writing at Eastern Illinois University. She has previously taught in Oregon’s Department of Corrections and is currently a high school Language Arts teacher. You can find recent work in MER Literary, Shot Glass Journal, MiniMAG and on Instagram @teacupsandghosts.