The Frame that Built Her

Meditate on a stair [stare]. Step into each other.

Fall for her.

Concentrate on a wholesome being, a woman you love- then tell her.

Shift your space into your biggest nightmare, tackle it.

Dream about yourself breathing, ruminate on it.

Tell yourself how much you are capable of earnest love-

I ruminate on it. I understand it. I watch Bunah understand it. Her English slips.

She bungles down the steps and I watch her fall. Bunah, get up-

She barely opens her mouth enough to say goodnight-- Bunah.

Only her body moves, pushing her up with the right hand first on the first of the steps. Her nails so long they scrape the wood. The noise deafens her. She’s a big girl, her father used to tell her. The last time she listened for that was the last time she was small. Both her legs are planted looking up at me- I watch from the highest stair. I pat my thighs as if I was calling for a dog. Bunah--

A storming stomp on the first three, four was almost there and five barely touched before her eyes opened with a wail. Bloodshot and panicked. Her breathing compressed, I said walk but she couldn’t hear.

She covered her panic with false strength and tried to convince herself to push through. I watched her struggle. I watched her knees ache. I wanted to pull her up but her eyes were too large. Her nails dug into my scalp, my prayers with her.

Bunah, to build/to understand.

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