“Tik tok, tik tok,”
my mother’s heels seem to whisper to me.
I watch her stomp
down the hallway,
shrill
petulant
late for church.
Peace be with you.
My body stiffens.
Like a doll,
I sit pretty,
patient.
Tension adorns my neck
And my jaw.
My eyes find my little brother,
his are dead.
I stare at the wall.
Pondering.
Church makes me feel
abnormal.
I’m not sure the priest
believes the sermon
he spins us.
He looks tense
under his robes.
I wonder if his jaw hurts, too.
My shoulders prickle.
My skin feels tight.
There’s no collar
to alleviate it.
My mother’s shoes click
in time with my heart.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
My chest concaves.
I leap from my seat,
finding her perfume.
“Which necklace should I wear?”
Trepidation crawls up my neck
and over my shoulders.
Suddenly,
the climate matches
her silver jewelry.
Mist saturates me.
Into the truck,
I look out the tiny backseat window.
The corn waves at me.
And I yearn for something
greater than myself
and this helplessness.
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