My mother’s soft smile always lingered
with the smell of cigarettes
she always let me sleep with her stained sheets
placed on the stone floor as she watched
the window
her short hair clinging
to the nape of her sweaty neck
My mother’s hands always shook
while she would stroke my back
reading the Hebrew Scriptures each morning
the light peaking
through that sweaty window
I lived until I was nine
always expressing gratitude
for the strength behind
My mother’s soft smile and shaky hands
but the lions came
the synchronized sound of their boots
pounding against the streets
below the window
drowning out the light.
