Night of the Ball
by Emily Broderick

On the day of the ball,
I took your hand and led
you to the cemetery
where you lost your glass slippers once,
and maybe a little more
when the sun was still up
and your mother was still alive.

I wanted to show you the ghosts
that blink like fireflies to find
their true loves in the shadows
of the tree planted before the
city was reduced to rubble
and I became a memory.

Richard Brautigan
by Emily Broderick

“Please”

Do you think of me
as often
as I think
of you?
           
                 —Richard Brautigan


You’re reduced to an epigraph,
Richard, but at least you
know you’re on my mind.

Richard, I still don’t know
why you killed yourself
six years before I was born
to appreciate you.

You once said,
“All of us have a place in history.
Mine is clouds.”
and I think that’s your way
of begging to be in a place

where love works out
and the colors all blend together
and there are no heartbreaks
and no .44 magnums.