Mercy

Her ghost slips into the room wearing nothing but the memory
of a song: thin as a note lost in a little girl’s throat,

mercy.

If fog had a sound,

if the moon decided to hold its breath,

if she ever heard the way I cry out in my sleep,

mercy.

She knows I’m not well, sees the dark circling my eyes,
one more inheritance,

mercy.

Her stare traces me
and a hand reaches out but Mama, I don’t know the words.

Saeed Jones, ‘Mercy’ from ‘Prelude to Bruise’.

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