Sing, Unburied, Sing

by Jesmyn Ward

Her freckles, her thin pink lips, her blond hair, the stubborn milkiness of her skin; how easy had it been for her, her whole life, to make the world a friend to her?

Sometimes the world don’t give you what you need, no matter how hard you look. Sometimes it withholds.

I cannot bear the world. “I can’t,” I say, and there are so many other words behind that. I can’t be a mother right now. I can’t be a daughter. I can’t remember. I can’t see. I can’t breathe.