I sit on the swings with my dead friend,
it’s normal, we’re happy, we talk about March
Madness, then I feel the pain of his sickness
come over me slowly because I’m the sick one
now, my body attacking itself, white blood cell count
increasing too quickly, I don’t know anything
else, is Vesuvius going to erupt inside of me, can
I still eat junk food, will I ever fall in love, is there
a heaven, am I already there, will my dead
friend follow me away from the swings, away
from sickness, back into seventh grade history class
where he tickles my back until I squeal, we get
in trouble, have to stay after school, clean
the desks, pick up scraps of paper that we
leave so that we can be together longer, don’t
have to go home and be alone with our premature sadness.

—Colin Drohan, CAS sophomore