She is free
She lives her life as a book with intricate pages
I can smell them on her. I smell books on my mother. She reeks of their shrieking, pongs of their pulsing.
I cry her a book
With my tears, I mold a wet life for us
My mother makes me cry because she is in me
When I whisper, her eyes close
When she whispers, I become still.
Mother, when I was small, you had broad arms and strong wrists for me
You still carry me in a variety of ways.
Now, I want to carry you – your body, your heart, your soul
I will make myself so strong that I can carry it all – on my back, with my arms, inside my mouth
The day you placed me outside of you, I never wanted to let go.
I pulled, you pushed.
You pulled and I pushed.
The friction caused a dictionary.
And we rewrote our souls. Our soul twins.
I’ll never let you go, wherever you are…
Why lie awake and pray, when you can close your eyes and let God listen to you in your dreams?