I thought her mind, her chemistry would take her away.
I've been prepared since
My volleyball game in 10th grade.

They told me about the pills she swallowed.
How they pumped her stomach.
The stomach that I became a person in.

Years later I still can't be sure
which messenger I'll have to shoot.
I dream of phones ringing
to tell me the news.

Still, she's promised,
She will always be my mom.
She will be at my wedding.
And she will work on what's wrong.

Now what they call God
Spits in my face,
Pulls out the rug,
and watches me brace.

But this time it isn't her choice.
This time I don't know
What to feel.

Sadness
Then what is that, laughter?
Bubbling up and out of my lips?

"They gave me four to ten years."

They gave years to her
and she took them.
She's taking them!

Four to ten years of mornings?
It's a guarantee I've never had.
Four to ten years I'd be mourning.
Instead I'm secure and not sad.