Forgiveness

By Theo Cai

When my mother asked me for forgiveness I found that I couldn’t speak for several months The weeds - dandelions, clovers - that had been composting in my stomach wanted out because my mouth was shut methane streamed from my nostrils from my ears I wondered then if she even knew the meaning of the word; asking for forgiveness would imply she had done something that needed it For most of my life she even fooled me made me believe there was never a something crows ate out of my hand calling dibs on each of my ten fingers shadows reached for me in full light I did not feel remotely human rotten plant matter coated my insides when I finally pried my jaw open flowers sprung from every breath I took and gathered at my feet.