Asthma
BY ALIYAH COTTON
At King St. Station
in Old Town
it is our income.
My mother
asks strangers
for money
as I hold her hand
and my chest rattles
behind the cardboard sign.
When there is nothing
for us
to count
in our box
I look instead
to the dogwoods
that guard
the station gate
and the daffodils
that grin
around the base
of each trunk
4 there
6 there
and there
* * * *
At Fairfax Hospital
it brings Sarah to me
walking in with
a cookie & a wink
every night for 2 weeks.
Her scrubs are blue
like Cookie Monster
painted on the walls
and my mother’s
box of cigarettes
and the round
stickers on my chest.
When I leave
Sarah says
she never wants
to see me again
and I do not
understand
* * * *
On Halloween night
in the little girl’s bedroom
it is the reason he pauses –
to glance down
at the wheezing
unabridged
churning
in her frame
brittle as
the twin bed
on which
she struggles.
She can see shapes
in the stipple ceiling:
a dog
a flower
crescent moon
beach umbrella
what else
what else
* * * *
At night
it’s hard to breathe
because I cannot
remember
anymore
how her voice
sounded
in my lungs
as she read to me.
I think
it was about
a sun bear
no
a red panda
no
evidence for the necessity of my removal by child protective services
BY ALIYAH COTTON
For example, there were holes
in my mother’s faded blue jeans, the edges frayed
like the uncombed hairs lining her forehead.
This is how she answered the door.
For example, the contents of our refrigerator:
beer, an onion, three Capri Suns, and milk,
expired four days. The sky in my drawing
hung black at the top of the freezer
because there were no sky-colored crayons.
Our walls didn’t have pictures. What they did have
were cockroaches. I wasn’t old enough to be afraid
so I made a game of folding mail into paper planes,
aiming for the poor ugly things.
The corner behind the kitchen table
looked like an airport.
For example, I puffed on my inhaler
and watched the unnamed smoke creep
under my bedroom door as the music and
the loud voices boomed down the hall.
I knew never to call 911.
For example, I remember my mother
sitting on the sofa at night
doing coke and listening to Alicia Keys
by the glow of the TV. We slow danced to it.
Those were my favorite kind of nights.
