From Lucia

Double thud, Olivia.

More like a beating. The change sudden

From mist to light.

From broiling pots of dark in the morning

To selfless waving at doors. The cold was in the bones

And sleep wouldn’t leave us

No matter we froze, we burnt, we stayed nauseous

In the back.

Each night back I shook both teeth and feet,

An habit of the unconscious mind

That like several others I couldn’t shake away.

In those affluent times, all we had for dinner

Was stewed greens, and musical TV shows.

Sarabanda, now I’m scarred with the sound

Of the cat man.

About that cold. When some years

Later I left, my mother told me

All she could do, was remember me shaking

Under the large scratchy throw —

Blue, red, green. On the couch,

The same person I am now.

The very same person.