my mother's arms

but this is me being happy,

i choked out in great gasps

as i shook and snotted and snivelled

in the safety

of my mother’s arms.

i suppose i never left, not really—

never left the age of seven

when my mother’s lips possessed

magical powers, able to

brush away cuts and bruises and scrapes

with a single kiss.

that’s what i needed most

when the delicate tendons of my heart

trembled with their final song and

snapped.

i needed to say,

i don’t think i’m okay

and have my mother comfort me and reply

you don’t need to be.