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Someone is …
crying somewhere
in the darkness
blanketing me.
“Who’s there?”
The voice is tiny,
frail as a promise
when it stutters, N-no
one. Just … m-me.
Not quite all
the way awake,
still I know who
it is. “Ashante?
What’s wrong?”
I reach for the lamp
beside my bed,
fumble for the switch….
AMBER LIGHT
Spills in a narrow
stream across my
bed to the floor
beyond. Ashante
crouches in the
corner by the door,
arms crossed tightly
against her chest.
She is a storm
cloud—puffs of
ebon skin fringing
her soiled white
