She was there. In my dream. The part I remember, anyway. There, with me . . . alive.
We were at a gathering with family. Her sisters and brother, my cousins, and all. It was present-day, but not . . . somehow.
She was there, with me . . . alive. But, my son and daughter were not. Other family was there beating me up (verbally) for faking her death.
She was there, with me, alive and telling them it wasn't my fault, that I was only doing what she asked.
They didn't care. The loved on her and beat up on me. How. Dare. I. . . .
The gathering turned out to be a funeral. Soon, all were shushed as the services were about to begin. Why my not dead mother, me, and most of the rest of my family seemed to be the only mourners at Malcom X's funeral . . well, shit if I know.
But, she was there, with me . . . alive. Jolting. Me. Awake.
