I’m washing dishes and already she has been hit by a drunk driver

Shot in her bed by police

Her heart fizzled out from loving too much

Many times before going to bed I’ve seen her forgetting my name

I see someone else screening my calls 

Answering with one-word messages before I finally find out the inevitable

I’m in the shower and she’s drowning

From her own blood, in a lake

My father is screaming, my sister is crying, and I’m making funeral arrangements

Trying to remember what the six primary seasonings were, 

where the red beans and rice recipe was whether or not pattern goes with pattern

I want to record our conversations so I have messages to scroll through but I keep thinking about when I get to the end of them

When no one agrees with me

Or sees my side of things

When she finally picks up I remember

I have to stop practicing for my mother’s death

Mattie Grace Levy

I'm a black woman, a classically trained oboist, a self-taught composer, and an introspective poet trying to comprehend my thoughts.

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