The Lab

experimental sci-fi humor, horror, and prose.

For My Mother

Sorrow. Sorrow is crossing a river.
Every step harder than the last.
Rushing water grips my legs, pulling me down.
A single misstep and I will be swept away.

I cry out to the river bed.
I cannot reach the other side.
I cannot keep going.

You can, it says.
You can.
Anger. Anger is a searing desert.
Burning rocks scar my feet.
The weight of the sun
crushing me into the sand.

I cry out to stinging winds.
I cannot escape the scorching heat.
I cannot last the day.

You can, they say.
You can.
Grief. Grief is winter, barren, cold and numb.
My feet slip on ice and rock and I tumble.
The sky is black,
Save for the eastern star.

I cry to the star.
Guide me. Save me.
I cannot lift my legs.
I cannot heal my soul.

No you can’t, he said.
But I can. I can.

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