There are ghosts in the room.
One is a curtain and one is a long shadow that moves as the hours leak out of the day-
I think my eyes are open but I know they can’t be. It’s-
Late.
Nearly midnight or early morning I’m sure and for the first time in not nearly long enough I find myself dreaming about my mother.
The shadow waterboards me.
Not how she looked the last time or-
At the funeral, but way back in the recesses of the days, I thought I’d burned to ashes-
That’s another one of those…
Bad signs.
But I don’t have the energy to rage against that dark night.
I stare at the painted sunrise I see clear as the end of day on the inside of my eyelids as Mami kisses my forehead and prays over me-
Is it okay to admit I’m scared of the dark?