Dear Lily,

I tried them. (I swear, it’s true.)

I tried the dried berries and the tea and the powdered juice and the pills. Everything you put in the basket has been used one way or another (the powdered stuff was nastier than that cough syrup your mom used to make you drink, and I hope it wasn’t expensive because that one got tossed after the first sip).

I know you have good intentions and I know you’re just trying to help and I know it might seem like I’m just not trying hard enough, not fighting hard enough, not living up to my full potential. But you know what?

I’m done.

I can appreciate that this might be hard for you to understand. Your life is spread out ahead of you with so many forks in the road that any turn might lead to vastly distant destinations.

But I hope you can understand where I’m at.

I’ve forked and turned and side-stepped and doubled back and carved out a path that felt right for me. Then a meteor hit. It exploded my world. My life. My body. Goji berries can’t fix this, honey.

I’m sorry. I tried.

But I think I’ll stick to coffee for the time I have left.

Love you bunches,
Papa

P.S. I have ice cream in the freezer and the extra gooey fudge you loved when you were little. I’ll share when you come see me.

Amy Marques

grew up between languages and places and learned, from an early age, the multiplicity of narratives. She penned children’s books, barely-read medical papers, and numerous letters before turning to short fiction and visual poetry. Her work has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize, The Best Small Fictions, and Best of the Net, and is published or forthcoming in Bending Genres, Chicago Quarterly Review, Gone Lawn, MacQueen’s Quinterly, MoonPark Review, Reservoir Road Literary Review, and Streetcake Magazine.

You can read more at:
https://amybookwhisperer.wordpress.com