Her body swelled and stilled. There would be a moment when she would breathe for the last time. An exhalation. There would be that moment for him as well, for all, but it was her moment at that moment, her prize of air, her still lake, her sweet boat floating away away, her body warping wood, swale and heavy, a sinking thing. He sat beside her, a helpless observer, his only power in witness, some bleak ability to watch and record the event in his own brain, which sent the order to his lungs to breathe with her while she still breathed, channels rising, sparks of interior electrical connection fading with the mind’s fool hope that it could create some kind of measurable response, to provide some worth or warmth. Her body beside his, swell and still. He thought of her still. He thought of holding her absolutely still. He loved, he loved her. He loved her, still.
Acknowledgments
Thanks are owed to Emily Bell, Justin Boyle, Claudia Ballard, Maxine Bartow, Lisa Silverman, and Debra Helfand for their attention and care in the production of this book. Thanks also to Featherproof Books and Fiction Collective Two, Ron Carlson, Tom Grimes, Mike McNally, Debra Monroe, and my family.