What words can you wrap around a dying brother, still dying, even now. A man who has not eaten for a month sips at water and says, even thirst is a gift. He asks what other gifts God has given him. I'm your gift, his daughter says from a corner. And he smiles and rasps— you can only unwrap a child once. The rest is prayer and even more prayer. You sing softly to him in a language only the two of you speak and he snores softly into your palm, breath and blood. Copyright © 2018 Chris Abani. Used with permission of the author. |
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