AsterGirl

love drips like honey down the throat thick like crying

The sun does not rise the same everywhere. The sun I once knew rose slowly, letting the light dance on my skin, the morning soak into my bones. Here, the sun runs quick into the sky, and we are forced to run with it. The night never seems long. My younger sister is the only one allowed to sleep throughout the day. Slung across my mother’s back, she curls her head into her arms, thumb tucked between her lips. We arrive at another bridge. This one less crowded than the one before. We gather loud at the crossing point, hands waving. Papers and words are passed, and we are let through the gate. The same kind of people meet us on the other side— a woman with a table of like-new clothes, a man with his stand of quick fried foods, an old woman with prayer beads around her arms and neck. A woman like before is here as well. She seats me in a white plastic chair, pulling her tool from her back pocket. The scissors are grey, faded, and slightly rusted. She asks my mother how much hair she