Slowly slowly I say “mother is here”.
closely in her hands I am cuddled everywhere
with no arm no rat,cat or here
praising her for a chance that she was there
“Slowly now,” I say. “Slowly, baby. Let’s slow it down.”
My mantra.
“We can get through this, kiddo. We can. We will.”
“Mama’s here.”
I curl my body around yours, still small enough to fit – one cup perfectly designed to nest inside another, then, someday another still, and another still. God’s infinitely perfect Mama Plan.
“Slowly, baby. I’m here. I’ve got you.”
I wrap myself around you. I throw my leg over yours, wrap my arm around your shoulders, cup your wet cheek in my hand.
Leave her alone! She’s done nothing!
I silently shout to no one there.
Leave. Her. Alone.
Come get ME.
You’re trembling. Damn it, you’re trembling.
I pull you closer and tug at the comforter. I arrange it just so until it covers us both. I know you’re not cold, but I have to do something. Put something between you and them.
Come get ME.
“I’m…
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