I took my momma in my lap. As the salt escaped the void in her eyes, she claimed, “It’s okay, I’m okay.”

I said nothing.

I took my hand, smelling of lavender and honey from the soap I cleansed with, and ran it over her forehead. I cupped the other side of her face with my left, wanting her to feel like a well-supported baby.

The salt continued to surface. I refused to wince at the sight of my momma wearing anything but a smile.

I said nothing.

I begged my positive energy, “Please. Transfer to her.”

She fell asleep.

And then she woke up.

I think she was contemplating moving the void in her eyes in my direction. But didn’t. I guess she was embarrassed.

More salt.

I said nothing.

She fell asleep.

I studied her face. She made faint noises. And then her mouth twitched in an upward motion.

My mind sparked, “Is she smiling in her sleep?!” I questioned with hope. I thought too soon. Another twitch of the face and a puddle of salt, reserved in the void as her eyes laid heavy, fell down.

The puddle collected in the crevice below her eyes, shaped by the absence of light.

I pondered, “Why did the salt hook onto the void?” It stayed ready, ready to jump with the slightest movement. As a reminder that sleep is a temporary escape.

My thoughts carried me. I was looking at her. At the salt. Waiting for it to dry up. I was looking at her but I wasn’t looking at her.

All of a sudden, my hand felt wet. She awoke. Eyes open, looking right at me. More salt- the salt that was ready to jump – invited itself into my hands.

Plainly, she told me to close the kitchen blinds and make her tea. Her head hurts, she said.

I said nothing.