when my mother sprained her wrist,
she told me, “it’s like lying on the bathroom floor
while the world goes black.
all you can do is cry. all you can do is
try to breath. wait until you can breath”
I think about her,
I think about her lying there when you’re
feeling particularly distant, and i’m
feeling particularly lonely. And
back and forth, I try to please,
but give you room to breath.
I think of my mother when i use
my last bit of energy for the day
to ask if you need anything,
and hardly receive a response.
sometimes, I feel like my mother.
sometimes I feel the weight of your world.
sometimes I feel like i’m breaking my wrist
just to hold your hand.