My mother is fallow ground,
dry and cracking. She shows off
her lack of vitality in every shaking step,
sways and almost falls.
There is no more grass here,
but she's moving forward, yellow
spreading to everything she touches
like watercolors in rain. I say mama, mama
I say, don't you know your body is dying?
Yes, she says, yes but you can't take my living anymore.
About the Author
KELSEY FUSON is currently studying at Furman University. She has fractured both her wrists and her right hand and was once hit in the face with a baseball bat. She loves her dog a lot. She hates carbonated drinks. This is her first publication.