Nobody Has to Bleed to Be Heard

I want to be exact about that.

Forty minutes, in a chair, in a ground-floor apartment in Sunset Park, with three people not helping her because she waved us off twice.

This is what my mother wrote, in enormous shaky capitals, one word every ninety seconds:

NOAH.

FIRST I LOVE THE NAME. NOT YOU. TRUE.

AFTER — YOU. VERY MUCH. ALSO TRUE.