THE LIFE CYCLE OF CICADAS
If
Mama’s water hadn’t broken while she was working at Mrs.
Baylor’s English assignment, she’d have got past the word,
‘hollow,’ to the next one, ‘irony.’ Mama woulda looked it
up in her Webster’s, scratched the definition onto her
notebook paper and maybe understood what it meant. But Mama
never got that far. She labored with me long after the moon
rose to meet the stars, clinging to Woody, a mangy stuffed
bear she’d had since the moment she was born. He was
missing one of his black button eyes, both ears chewed off
to nubs, but he still had a thread of smile and Mama said
if Woody could smile after all he’d been through, so could
she. When I slid out, the sun was just peeking up over our
side of the world. “It was like I could forget every day
that had come before you, Hope.”
That’s
my name. Hope. Our last name is Full.
