A familiar scene:
Upon your return home, your mother delivers on you breaths and sprigs.
If dead, tears.
She blames your friends, throws herself on to the casket,
and says some white prayers. She writes in
her people's blood several life-granting glyphs,
wrings out poison from your limbs, puts you in your childhood bed.
You dream and keep dreaming,
wake up during mid-noon, and fall back into it.