And then there were the days I wouldn't let the sun inside me.
Too happy. Too color. Too much energy. And tell the coroner that I must be wrapped in French translation. For my father’s sake. And to cradle me in an Irish flag—for my mother, with creole chatterings written around the edges, for my father’s father. Allow me to mean it when I say my last words, which will be dedicated to the girl who danced for her pact with the color green that laces all nature. Goodbye.
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