Sing, Unburied, Sing

by Jesmyn Ward

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

This the kind of world, Mama told me when I got my period when I was twelve, that makes fools of the living and saints of them once they dead. And devils them throughout.

“Because we don’t walk no straight lines. It’s all happening at once. All of it. We all here at once. My mama and daddy and they mamas and daddies.” Mam looks to the wall, closes her eyes. “My son.”

Sorrow is food swallowed too quickly, caught in the throat, making it nearly impossible to breathe.