| I do not know how
she felt, but I keep thinking of her—
screaming out to an empty street. I had been asleep
when I heard a voice screaming, Help!
and frantic, when I opened my door. I remember her shoulders
in the faded towel I found before she put on my blue sweats
and white T-shirt. Call 911 please, she said.
When the officer arrived I said, I found her there after the—
But she said, No, that wasn't what
happened. What must be valued
I'm learning, in clarity and in error,
are spaces where
feelings are held. Here—in a poem?
And elsewhere   Copyright © 2017 Jenny Johnson. Used with permission of the author. | 
