Ma says I’m heavy in her arms. I tell ma I weigh like 100 pounds. Ma says no weigh and that’s way too much weight for such a small soul. I tell ma I have a big soul, a soul so big that it is heavier than what it appears to be. Ma says I shouldn’t talk shit about my soul because she is my ma and she knows a thing or two about souls, big and small. I tell ma she has no soul for insulting my soul and the souls of those who are my size and seem to have small souls. Ma says don’t worry little soul. It’s not about how big your soul is or should be. It’s about how heavy it feels when you are in the arms of angels. I tell ma she is not an angel, “so don’t get any ideas”. Ma looks at me aimless with that strange (and probably fake) pink neon halo hovering over her stupid head. “Prove it!”, she exclaims. “That your ma ain’t no angel.” I look into ma’s contact lenses for the answer to the question that is answered as she lowers me into bed.
- 10 Reasons Why I Love New York (almostdorothy.wordpress.com)