to where I sit

like she is surprised

I’m even

in the room.

She says nothing.

Her cigarette burns.

I hate the smell of

cigarette smoke.

I do.

I think this is the key,

Dr. Marino says.

That Hope has these

dreams of crying.

And now that Lizzie’s gone,

the dreams have stopped.

Momma jumps to her feet.

That is it,

she shouts

so loud my ears

hurt.

I jerk in

my chair,

cover

my ears with

my hands.

That’s it,

Momma shouts

again.

Now you’re trying to drag me

and Hope into this.

Please remain calm,

the doctor says.

But Momma will have none of that.

She grabs me by the arm,

pinching,

and

tugs me to my feet.

Understand this, Dr. Marino,

she says.

I’ll have Liz-baby

out of this hospital before you can count to five.

You hear me?

Mrs. Chapman,

he says,

please have a seat.

I think we have a major

breakthrough here.

Dr. Marino stands too.

He reaches out to Momma,

but she slaps at his hand.

Ashes fall to the carpet in a hunk.

The whole room

feels hot,

tips.

Momma’s hand squeezes,

bruises.

I’ll step on

those ashes,

I think,

if they set the rug

on fire.

But the fire

is Momma.

I’m getting Lizzie out of here.

Momma’s voice is so loud

it makes my ears hurt.

You’re filling her head

with stuff and now you’re

filling Hope’s head with

dreams. I will not allow it.

Get me whatever papers

I need to sign. Now.

Your daughter is in no condition . . .

the doctor says.

Don’t you hear me?

Don’t you hear me?

I will call the police.

The police.

Do you hear me?

Dr. Marino opens the door

to his office.

The secretary looks at us,

wide-eyed,

half standing

half sitting,

hand on the phone.

Momma keeps that tight

hold on my arm

and I say nothing.

I pretend that this

isn’t happening

to me.

Or Lizzie.

But,

the thing is,

I saw her

change.

Right before my eyes.

A magic

trick.

My Lizzie,

changed

from who

she was to who

she isn’t.

She’s not ready to go home. . . .

He tries to say more.

I don’t care what you think,

Momma says.

She’s in Dr. Marino’s face now.

I . . . want . . . my . . . baby.

Dr. Marino says,

We can talk about this

another day.

At first I think,

He’s

scared of Momma,

like I am.

But then I see

he’s mad.

Mad!

There’s anger in his

face

the way his jaw

works at the words,

the way he clenches

his hands.

We can talk about it

later, nothing,

Momma shouts.

Dr. Marino fills the doorway

then.

You may not

speak

to me that way,

Mrs. Chapman,

he says.

And you may not

have your daughter.

She won’t be

going anywhere.

Momma is in his face

and he is in hers.

They stand there,

toe-to-toe

chin-to-chin.

We’ll see about that,