content warning: death

Standing by her bed

Hands clammy, clutching

at my dress. Searching for him

In the folds of fabric

A noise escapes my mouth,

an involuntary laugh

“I’m going to make rice”

I announce. To no one

in particular

Down the hall

Into the kitchen

The bag of rice is heavy

I miss the cup and

Sma ll 

     w hite

              gr a in s

F

    a

       l

          l

            to the ground,

Like snow

If I could lie down on the

cheap linoleum

And make snow angels

I would be five again

So keep still, feign sleep

Soon strong arms will

lift me from this

cold ground—

But now the rice is done

And I’m blinking through the

steam, from a rice cooker

He picked out. And suddenly

I hate rice

Later I climb into bed

Gooey grains sticking

In my throat, weighing down

My tongue

It drags me deep

I’m wrapped in white, until

the sun hits my face

Melts it away and

leaves me

Bare, shaking

In the warm light of day

Down the hall (again)

My sister in the kitchen

“Good morning” she says

“Good mourning” I reply

But I don’t think she gets it