I want to talk
but no voice
comes out.
And that door
stays shut
tight.
Don’t be so
damn melodramatic,
Momma says
and gives a sniff,
wiping at her nose with her arm.
Then she is crying again.
Without tears.
Lighting up
her cigarette
right there in the
hospital.
After a while,
when I think I can make it,
I lead Momma
holding her up.
Outside the sun
is so bright
it feels like noon
but I know
it can’t be,
that it’s way
later in the day
than that.
Momma stumbles off
the sidewalk,
almost falling to one knee.
And I throw back
my head
and laugh like nothing
else.
The thing is,
though,
I don’t think
it is a bit
funny.