Two Weeks after George Floyd’s Death

Two Weeks after

George Floyd’s Death

Today we clean house together though it is bright and mild outside where the breeze on her face while bike riding is heaven and our Japanese Lilac tree makes shadows she pretends are fellow superheroes ready to fly, ready to fight.

Sirens sound from all directions so frequently we wonder if it’s the same one circling or new emergencies every five minutes. We cannot determine how close they will come, whose need they answer.

She holds the mop in protest, pushing wet dust bunnies in wayward motions, defying the list I made that clearly read sweep first, and I make a joke about how hard it seems for her to contribute to the cleanliness she knows at home.

She looks up at me, lower lids holding tears and says how how can anyone be happy how can anyone be happy with everything going on in the world? She brings a hand to her throat in a loose hold, confirms there is an exhale that follows an inhale there is a pulse, there is her mother’s heartbeat beside her ear as I pull her to my chest.