Maternal

I want to get a honey bee, below my ear, I tell her. It’s what I call her. She reminds me that I already have her name tattooed on my right forearm.  I know, I reply, but I can’t help it.  I love you.

Last night, I learn, she is sick.  Her usual come fall please God don’t let it turn into pneumonia again cold.  I miss her fiercely, wish to heaven I could be there with her, and dream of an inky moon and stars.

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