my parents 
may have shared 
that master bed 
overlooking 
the water but 
it wasn’t long 
before 
he started sleeping on the couch. 

the lake was young 
the stones were sharp 
and brittle. 

i wanted them 
to be 
smooth. 

I was 14 when my parents separated. I’m waiting for the day I’ll be done writing about 
it. Clearly, I’m not there yet. I am still in the middle, still trying, still fighting to know what it 
means to be writer, human, me.