you know, my friend says, these kinds of clovers are actually endangered. and here we are, standing in a field full of them.

he’s right. their stems are wide awake in the breeze, furling out into petals, like they don’t know any better. like it’s just that easy.

yesterday i learned that in an alabama prison, death row inmates rattle the bars of their cells, bang their metal cups and plates and scream, each time one of them is being strapped into the chair. i wonder when they decide their last words. how many choose to say nothing at all.

i see it more clearly now, how life is a fragile thing, and death in someone else’s hands. sometimes, even, in a child’s hopeful fingers, digging through entire fields for a stroke of luck.