For reasons I still don’t understand
and can no longer ask, my mother
wouldn’t let me pull my mattress off my bed
and put it on the floor. So, of course, I did it anyway,
and just made sure to put it back every morning.
But in the in-between, I would listen to
“Music from the Hearts of Space” on NPR,
on my boom box,
look at the moon through dark trees,
and spook myself and soothe myself, both,
over not knowing how long I would be where I was.

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14 (I think)