It’s Friday morning, 7 A.M.,
Kiki kept her word. We’re going to New York City!
Getting dressed, I hear deranged shrieking!
It must be a neighbor, or an injured animal?
It’s so loud!
I jump out of bed into the cold room.
Was someone knifed?
Murdered?
This is horror movie–type screaming.
I listen hard.
It is very, very nearby, then I realize
it’s coming from inside our apartment.
It can’t be my mother.
She doesn’t get up until ten or eleven.
I shuffle, find my robe,
inch toward the sounds.
What? She’s crumpled up on her bedroom floor.
The shrieking is her!
My mother’s folded over like origami
and I can’t make out much.
I am afraid to do anything
but stand there covering my ears.
I’ve never heard these sounds before.
There are phrases
but they don’t have beginnings
or ends, just wide-open vowels,
almost like something is stuck in her,
something sharp.
I look for blood but there is none.
I don’t breathe.
I’m cold. But I’m more than cold.
I only know that this pain she is in
will land on me.
She’s snapped.
Danger!
Anything I try to do to help her
will backfire.
I shower, tell Davy to call Gran,
and make my great escape.