I am Okay to Wait

By CLEANNA CRABILL I am okay to wait, I thought, swinging my legs forward and back again, feet tracing pendulum paths in the air, not quite low enough to scrape the floor. I am okay to wait, I said, legs criss-cross-applesauce, fingers traveling paths between the freckles on my forearm. I am okay with waiting, I vow, and there’s this new feeling on my left hand, my fingers separated, not quite as familiar as my right. I am okay with waiting, I laughed, taking another sip of beer sour, wet cardboard saturating my tongue. Yes, that counts. That too. Still. …






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