A cold January night. Bright blood stains, round, moist and full of horror, stay in my thoughts as I approach hospital. Static. No doctor to aid us.

"How old is this kid?" "I dunno, looks about high school" "Nah, chart says, thirty-two" "No WAY!" "So sad. What a fucking way to start my day."

I want my husband. Now. I want him now.

"Lady, hush! Your husband is not around."

Mama. I'm with you.

Cold. No focus. Floating. Falling. And floating. A woman I don't know holds my hand. Go away! So dizzy. Faintly drifting.

"Your baby didn't, couldn't, wouldn't cry. It's still. Do you know what that is? I'm sorry."

Mama, look. I'm in your arms. I'm with you always. Floating. Always. You and I. So calm. Just us. Floating on and on and on. Stay with your boy, Mama. Stay. Look. Look, I am just in your grasp.

I look. I grasp. I float. My boy. My boy. I go limp.


The Constraints