The river is the river is the river. 
This & other reassurances. 
When I stared so hard at the string lights
my vision softened to sparkling butter. 
Surely, by 27, you outgrow suicide. 
Another season spent in the arms 
of my mother. Another apology too small
for the enormity of my mistakes. When I was little 
& sure of my place. Cat-like on the bricks 
before the fireplace. Content 
to swirl sugar cookies with buttercream,
pluck buckeyes from the church parking lot, 
curl myself around the bannister like garland. 
The river is still the river is still the river. 
This & other half-truths. 
Frozen-over, I see no movement. 
Static future. 
Girl who did not grow right,
girl who did not grow up at all, 
girl who is still a girl. Girl who is still.

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Megan Williams is a writer in Pittsburgh, PA. She has two chapbooks out: Twentysomething with Bullshit Lit and Window Person with Sybil. Tweet her and find her work @megannn_lynne.