The women in my family are dying off
& I am the only one left. Like stacked wooden dolls,
a mother inside a mother. I am my child, my mother’s child.
She’s lost her mind. That term makes it sound like it will come back again,
like a family pet that ran away temporarily. It’s not coming back again.
This is not temporary. It is not a leaky faucet, broken window, mended fence.
There is no white picket fence. We are not a suburban family in a sitcom,
and this episode will not be over in 24 minutes. My mother put all her strength into me, and I grew 6 ft. tall. She became a brittle tree. The women in my family are dying off with terrifying rapidity. I am the only one left.