Stories I Tell Myself

By Amanda Auchter

Tomorrow I will die
if I eat this pear. If I eat

this perfect almond, this
apricot. A whole bowl

of fear at my fingertips—
lips numbed, breath

out of breath. Once,
I boarded an airplane

and began my ascent
of panic. I begged

my husband to ask the flight
attendant to ask the pilot

to turn the plane around
because what if I had a heart

attack in midair, what if
I died?

       I fell asleep on his shoulder,
still in fear, still in the wild air

that rushes over me without
warning. Here’s another:

                            if I leave
     my house, the world

will explode into a hail
of bullets in the supermarket,

the drugstore. The news confirms
this daily. I have a favorite mug,

but I can’t use it. The last time
I drank tea, smiled at the smiling

painted sun, twenty children
died in their classroom.

                  I open my front door
and the sun warns me:

what will not happen
will happen, is happening right now.

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