Forty Eight

I’m writing this in green typewriter font because it seems fitting-- and because you’re leaving me here. Jerimiah, you are not the peanut butter to my jelly; you’re only my best friend. We’re not a clever movie; we’re nowhere, Ohio. And I will write many chapters in my book about how you kept me alive and thank god for the Jewish black woman in heaven who gave you bass clefs for cheeks.