Poetry, Bella Majam
for her absence on the third wednesday of april.
unfortunately she mistook the tip of a camel cigarette
for her father’s touch. she has come down
with something awful. her tongue
has been bleeding blue since
sunday. please excuse my daughter, i think she
got it from my mother (so she must
have gotten it from me) —
as a child, i’d sit at ma’s feet as she dabbed
foundation two shades too light
for either of us below the crease
of her wrinkled temples.
must have been the wind. must
have been the carrot soup a few degrees too cold
when she unwrapped it from the plastic. please
excuse her, she was married
before she even knew how to hold
other people’s daughters.
as for mine, she rests. i hear the rough
drawl of a female rock star seeping
from her bedroom door, so she must be better.
she will probably return tomorrow
afternoon, albeit in denim
shorts wrinkled from the day before.
thank you for understanding.
Bella Majam is a writer from Manila. She was previously nominated for the Pushcart Prize. She likes long naps, loud music, and other writers' diaries. You can follow her @beelaurr on Instagram.
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