My sister never forgave herself 
for handing me the box of Tic-Tacs
in the crosswalk. 
She never saw the car coming. 
Never forgot the image, 
like a skid mark on her brain,
of my naked feet, 
blonde hair splayed
around my head like a halo,
white Tic-Tacs scattered on the asphalt.

She never knew my dying wish 
was to marry and have children.

But, I never met my husband.
He never asked me on a date
by the port-o-potty 
at my best friend’s wedding.
We never recited vows by the sea.
The sun never broke through the fog
as he placed the ring on my finger.
A white light never opened up.
We never had a son.
He never died.
My husband never taught me 
how to free the last Tic-Tac  
by flicking the bottom of the box.

Bio: Chanel Brenner