You will painfully stir in your sleep when you realise where you are.
Your wrists will feel like drowned stones on a lifeless anchor.
You will remain with your face nesting in your braids.
The pillow will not smell like yours,
nor hers.
You'll catch your mother's scent and you'll panic. You will hide the sweat gathering on your forehead - much like your father did when he prepared to tell your mother a lie.
You will know she knows you are awake.
She will insert your name in Jesus' name.
She will scrub his over yours like a lathered iron sponge;
"I cover Ayomide with the blood of Jesus"
You will hear her say. You will want to say, “I want to be covered in the love of a woman."
You will want to tell Mama that you covered yourself in a bath of your own blood.
You died so you may live, and love, that you tried to save yourself with a thousand cuts, tried to help Jesus save you,
tried to bleed out your sin in a slow crucifixion.
You'll stir with these truths in your hospital gown, the sun licking your eyes open like a faulty envelope. You will see her standing there beside your Mother.
You will recognize the low hum beneath Mama's prayers, as your lover's cry.
Your best friend.
You will feel your four year secret just as heavy in your chest as any other day.
You'll weep to the whispers of her amens.
Your Mother will think the holy spirit is here, that he is flowing through the room.
You will seize the moment to scream.
Holding all the hands you'll need to catch the wail tumbling from your voice box.