(poems go here) I read a short story once,
by a man named Hemingway
about hills and elephants
and a girl
sitting at a train station
waiting.

The night my sister came home from the clinic
I thought about that story
and that girl –
the sadness in her voice
the resignation and anger and despair –
and I realized you never know
how the story ends.

And so Mr. Hemingway
I demand you wake up,
come back and tell me
if that girl ends up okay