As a child I tossed all my imaginary friends out the window of a fast moving train because I wanted to feel my fist break open as I freed them, as each of their bodies whipped against the siding, their insides: snow dispersing into wind, their little heads rolling across the yellow plains. Because I believed they would return. But none have since. Not even the ones I didn’t love.
From Leaving Tulsa (University of Arizona Press, 2013). Copyright © 2013 by Jennifer Foerster. Used with the permission of the author.