I don’t know maybe I thought I was turning into him. into a dream of youth. I don’t remember having one. I’m going to ask god to give me back my childhood. I don’t remember having one.

there are child prostitutes here and there and there are children who aren’t able to capitalize on their situation. settling instead for social currency making up for damages and what they call pain and suffering. I watched myself turn into him and I watched myself give it back to god.

what was buried in an old sleeping bag was something young but something empty. something ripe with sunburn and a rash around the chest. collarbones become wings. I watched myself turn into him and fly back to god. it was the last time I saw him.

Sarah Jordan currently divides her time between New York and Scotland, where she is a postgraduate student studying women, writing, and gender. Her work has or will appear in Souvenir Lit, Rhino, the minnesota review, Entropy Magazine, and others. She occasionally tweets @sajordan01.