Alejandra Berber (Septermber 19,1992 / Lynwood, California)

It was like the first page of a newspaper:

Running tears glazed my
mothers cheeks. Each new dropp cooling
down the old one that had warmed
right on her face. And her gripped elastic arms
wrapped around my weightless body;
only hoping to never let go.

Diabetes? What was that?
The answer was given to me after a week
in the hospital.

White sheets No-salt meals

Sugar-Free Orange Juice

Needles shot in my body-
shivered my skin making each strand
of hair raise up and slowly start bending down
as if they were praising the liquid.

Medicine that made me happy
And my numbers temporarily perfect.

It wasn't a blessing, for now my fingers
hardly feel the prick for a struggling sample of blood.
A numbness grown in the stomach, thighs, and feelings.

It wasn't a miracle, for now my vision
lacks the details of an image. The sharpness
only goes away with the pictures that I get.

It was like the first page of a newspaper:
everyone reads, looks at the photograph
and then throws it out. Only this time,
this story went out bigger; it went on to me.


By: Alejandra Berber