Birds have feelings Too, by Aidan Wodehouse

our map has vanished for the most part. scars turn into pursed lips, canyons that can be seen from space. we’re granted our belongings again; we pick crusted blood from our keys with our thumbnail. we try to convince ourselves it’s rust. time easily erased. social worker Thomas says the first week back is always the hardest to acclimate to. normal life is not normal life. but then again what have we been living? our dad and sister drive three hours to pick us up, wearing matching Pokémon t-shirts. they take us to KFC for lunch—the taste is unreal. we’re getting used to details, its vertebrae scattered about this new-again world. the snow in dad’s goatee, our sister’s pronounced dimples, little forgotten sprinkles. everywhere is a detail. it’s practically overwhelming. and yet the breeze flowing into the rental car from Lake Huron seems like a forgotten kind of touch. do we feel touched? to have those who love us carry us home? do we feel ready? the answer can never be yes, but it can be a word like it.

*the following playlist evokes my time in the behavioral health unit for reasons of self-harm and suicidal ideation:

by Meredith Keeler

Arachnophobia in the deep

by Mikey Sims