In the same way she’d told me that she’d eaten waffles
with blueberries for breakfast,
Deja raised her hand, said
My birthmother died from an overdose.
The words, comfortable in her mouth,
found room there.
I’ve always wanted a sign from her.
Her eyes locked into mine.
A shrug.
But last night, I had this dream:
I was in a boat with a woman
who I think was my mother,
her hair pulled back with a red scarf.
We were on a lake & the water slapped
the side of the boat. She was paddling …
Her voice trailed off.
Every time I tried to talk to her,
little birds would fly
out of my mouth.
Her fingers fluttered
the air above her
& she sighed.
I was trying to speak,
but those birds,
flew out
& away—