I wasn’t there, so I must use language.
On a bed as white as fresh cooked rice, my mother lays alone. Doctors and nurses mill around the room saying, sciatic nerve, blood clot, unilateral paresis—they settle on undiagnosable. My mother says, Don’t give me no medicine. Don’t y’all know how to pray? He is preying on your mother, pastor warns. A woman who can see visions in her dreams, best believe the Enemy wants her culled. She hadn’t called for 3 days. Palpitations in my chest, something was up. The full moon is an Excedrin without water. 1 sheep. No sheep. Finally fall asleep to ASMR, wake to commercials asking どっかいきたくない？I have google flight alerts for NYC. I have a savings and it’s dying to be spent. I oil my face, between my cornrows; rub the ashy from between my fingers; sing Sometimes I Feel Like a [ ] Child. She texts, Don’t worry, just war. I wear worry like acne. When we FaceTime, she asks, Ain’t I supposed to be the one sick?
