Her

4 a.m. Did a gun go off? She’s yelling someone’s name. Mom? She walks after sunrise with a raincoat on even though there’s no rain. But she feels it. Just as she feels something stroking her bowlegs under the covers at night. The lingering of her screams invades my quietness and creates a pain I didn’t know I had.

Forgive me, she repeats to an entity. She’s trapped underneath her bed, the redness of her eyes creating light. She needs to be rid of this distress. Hours pass. She’s still pleading with him. He’ll only save her if she can exit her body. How this is done doesn’t matter. She cries, and I cry too over the suffering we can’t lessen.

I peek through the blinds. She’s walking in the heat with a blanket wrapped around her. I wait while I eat breakfast. She comes back inside and laughs for so long that I unknowingly imitate her. The bathwater becomes warm. I lie through the calmness I’ve yearned for, yet I’m uncomfortable.