Cassandra

"Mom? ... Mom? Why did you cook the chicken with nuts? A nut doesn’t belong in food. A nut is a nut. You wouldn’t put a marble in your food would you ... ? ... Mom??" My eldest daughter tears the chicken from the bone with a furtive, feline quickness like she hasn’t eaten for many days. She looks up from her plate across at me, her fingers go from the greasy chicken to the bread she has saved up on her plate against 'her black days', to the chicken, to her hair, she draws the small bones from her mouth and concentrates on the meat between her fingers now, calming, aware the meal won’t be stolen from in front of her. She begins humming, softly between chews … All the Angels sing, Hold on to Jesus’ hand, we will all be safe ... "Mum, can I watch some TV?" I raise my eyes from the keyboard and stare at her over the rims of my glasses. "Cassandra, sweetie, do you mind? Go find your sisters, I have to get this blog written … "