Phantom Limb

At 3:30 AM I woke up and felt like it was the best time to wake up, like it was morning, ten minutes before my 9AM class. I tried reading handouts from my argument class but thought of the broken ornament on top of the fridge--a gift from a dear friend. I had felt this way before over a deal with two elephants carved out of wood which I didn't buy in an antique shop because I suppose nobody would want it, just like my father had thought of the Twin Towers when my sister had wanted to take a deep breath on its topmost floor a year before it collapsed; "the building stays there," he said. The broken ornament was made of clay with the length of my middle finger when amputated, yet like every longing it is illusory, delusional, but the pain aglow when fanned, as you would a charcoal with dying embers.