Felicia (for mum)

in the cold we wear, we wear
layers because no one ever told us how to dress
different from summer, blisters on our shoulders,
still. (you named it felicia, and)
when i fall asleep, i am
crying. in the cold, it is georgia and
we don’t know what to do, so
it makes us helpless, like
crying in the shower (glistening white tile in the
late afternoon sun and i’m drowning but)
because this is what we wish:
i am five again to retroactively forget my
dreams, (windows open all night, we don’t know
what to do with it) and
i wear turtlenecks under sundresses when
it drops to fifty-five—the trees skip
autumn for the fall, turn brown and
(die please don’t die please).