Five.
Times ten, the percent I got on my first math quiz in grade school
The number of scars singed into me from my father afterwards
Minus three, the number of my siblings who couldn’t crawl out to see life
Five, the number of IQ points my brother lacked for a regular class,
He always got mocked for riding the short bus.
Five, you are the number of seconds until midnight of New Year’s Eve
While I was gazing out the balcony,
My yells silent and my tears screaming as I watched the stranger
who drowned himself with alcohol,
who walked clumsily out the fifth floor as
G l a ss
s h a t
t e r e
d…
dead.
Plus three, my age when I found out about my mom’s disease.
Five, you are the senses humans can have
before being torn away by brain cancer
or better yet, hushed by the different types of medicine that have been killing her
The irony.
Pills pouring into her mouth, too weak to do it herself
Harboring pain too severe for food to consume
Plus two, the number of times we had to clean her pillowcase:
strands of hair tangled with the cotton -
Until there was nothing left to clean
Bed sheets scarlet from her coughs
The result of chemotherapy – the dehumanizing cure
You are the number of muffled screams in the empty halls,
She wants to stay strong for me
Stop deceiving me! I hear those choked sobs from across the corridor
Plus one, the number of times I almost thought of life
Without her.
You are the number of times they’ve said I’ve gone mad
Ever since her funeral.
Times two, my age when I have witnessed two deaths- One as lightning, another as molasses
May 5th: My eleventh birthday when they finally sent me to the institution,
One year after I hugged her to Heaven
Happy birthday to me.