I dreamed I was dying.
My mother lay across me
crushing my chest,
studying my eyes with interest
as I watched the little blue angels
fly out of my mouth.
Stretching carbon fiber wings,
swept up on my last. Gasp. Then.
‘Breathe,’ she said.
And so I did.
Shifting her dead weight,
she put her lips close to my ear,
and with a soft breath, whispered.
‘That’ll teach you to have mommy issues,’ she said.