i’m sorry you have to hold me, mama, tell me a story
mama, tell me a lie, take me back to be born in july
i’m sorry you have to hold me up
the binding has been done, i will die of thirst under the dark august sun
the fire speaks to me on holy ground
i am bound by blood, i am bound by twine
child of august, bound to die one hundred times
mama, i know your arms are weary
i’m sorry you have to hold me
today is monday, april 10th, but it is august. it’s always august. in my life, i have not been able to move past where i started, in august. today is april 10th and my mother is holding me as i cry on the kitchen floor. holding me, as she always has, in august.
the first time my mother held me was on a full moon in august—in the dark side of august. i was born on a monday in the eight days of august when everything is thirsty, when we all have our blistering palms facing the sun, begging for reprieve. in the dark side of august, when the butterflies fall from the sky, when the petals of wildflowers turn to ash, and burning orange bodies hang from the trees.
born with silken, jet black hair, dark eyes, and cracking, sun-bleached leather skin, dark beneath the surface. the light of the dark august sun darkened me, darkened my spirit. i was born a book burning before it could be written. born on a full moon in the dark side of august, with the water of high tide in my lungs and a dry throat. born as everything i touched was exhausted, weeping, withering away, dying.
born bound to the dark august sun, i can never get too far. the sun is all-consuming, it always comes to feed. to take everything i’ve grown, and i am always taken back to where i started, in august, crying in my mother’s arms. today is april 10th, and my mother is holding me as i cry on the kitchen floor, because today, i lost my job, again.
it is august. it’s always august.
losing jobs wasn’t a thing for me, until it was. i graduated high school when i was fifteen, cum laude. i went to one of the top universities in texas, majored in biology and graduated with honors. i can’t say i always wanted to be a scientist, that wouldn’t be true—but, i became one and i was a good one. i tried my best to not be a burden, but i became one, one day. one day, it never stopped being august.
it’s august, actually august, and it’s my birthday. it is 2018, and for the first and only time since i was born, there’s a full moon on my birthday. i am in mexico, on the beach, looking at the full moon on a perfectly clear, dark night. under the light of the pisces moon, the high tide is crashing against the shore, and i am praying. i don’t remember what i asked God for, but i know i didn’t get it. it was my twenty-seventh birthday, and this is the day that it never stopped being august.
two months later, i was pregnant by a man who told me he wanted to marry me. eight months later, he was nowhere to be found and i was a single mother before i even gave birth. when i was pregnant, i was in denial about how hard it would be to be a mother on my own. but, the dark august sun comes, and as your skin is boiling, you must beg—even on your knees, you will not receive. fifteen months later, i was battling postpartum depression, mixed with the stress of doing it all alone, and we left texas to move into my mother’s one bedroom apartment in virginia. my daughter and i slept in my mother’s full-sized bed, and my mother slept on the couch. and then, the pandemic began. it was march of 2020, i had spent ten years in university getting three degrees. still, i had $2,700, a baby, and no job. all of the success i had known was being consumed—first slowly, then all at once. it was august. it’s always august.
on thursday, april 6th, 2023, it is august. since february, i’ve been working a remote, corporate job that has been poorly explained to me. on april 6th, my boss scheduled our casual weekly check-in meeting on zoom. since the pandemic began, i got and lost three jobs, but this was the last job that i got, and this was the last job that i lost.
my boss was a tiny, frigid, late-twenties, new england white girl who self-admittedly didn’t even have a plant in her home. at the weekly check-in, she was wearing a company hoodie and her strawberry blonde hair was in a lose ponytail. she complimented my recent presentation to the entire company and the progress i was making on my current data analytics project in collaboration with the laboratory team. at the time, my daughter was three—not loud, but her presence was known. it wasn’t the kind of job where silence was required. towards the end of the check-in, my boss asked me callously, “does your daughter have anywhere to go during the day? do you need help finding somewhere for her to go?”—as if my daughter was a piece of old furniture i needed help sitting by the side of the road.
for four long seconds, i just looked blankly at my screen. i was confused as to why she was asking me this. for important meetings, my daughter was quiet and occupied. for casual meetings where we laughed and discussed weekend plans, i didn’t feel the need to sequester her with an activity. being a relaxed mother was my mistake. my relentless pursuit for a remote position centered around my need for my daughter to stay home with me—daycare was too expensive for me to manage on my own.
in the four seconds that i was holding my breath, i didn’t even think about what to say. in four seconds there was just a hole forming in the center of my body and heat, surged through my limbs—my hands were instantly flushed and dewy with fear. with just a question, my body knew that i was in danger. with just a question, my body knew that everything i had grown was about to be consumed. it was august.
“no, she stays at home with me,” i finally replied. she quickly responded, “well, you seem distracted by her in meetings and you’re not really joining in the discussions.” i was a new hire—i barely knew what anyone was talking about, i barely knew what i was talking about. the job was poorly explained to me and i was poorly trained, i was just trying to figure it out to keep a roof over my daughter’s head, and her presence is now being used against me. i shakily said, “i’m just listening and learning in these meetings right now, and i didn’t think to keep her occupied for more casual meetings, but i can definitely be more prepared and do that!,” i said. i nervously smiled, and her face didn’t move. she shrugged her shoulders and said, “i’ll think about this and get back to you.” she ended the meeting and my heart stopped. it’s always august.
it’s easter weekend, and my mom is in town. i had moved back to texas, trying to stand on my own, refusing to accept my defeat as the burden daughter. i wanted to forget about the meeting and get in the spirit of bunnies and dying eggs. i planned to cook an elaborate easter dinner, with macaroni and cheese and collard greens. on april 9th, easter sunday, my apartment smelled terrible. my mother and my daughter boiled twenty-four eggs and were giddily dying them in the kitchen. i was laying in my bed. i claimed to be tired, but i was actually scared. my body had been vibrating with anxiety for days. i didn’t hear anything back from my boss on that friday—i even sent a follow up message on slack that she ignored—it felt like years until monday.
on monday, i was sullenly present for the unnecessary 8 a.m. team check-in meeting. my boss asked the three of us, one by one, what we were working on that day, and we all responded and were released to do our individual tasks. my boss acted normal, and i felt my body stop shaking for the first time in days. maybe i overreacted. maybe it was actually april. maybe it is spring and the flowers were actually blooming. maybe the dark august sun wasn’t coming to take everything from me, this time. for the next three hours, my mother and daughter colored, sang, and danced in the living room, and i worked on my project and tasks, calming down—first slowly, then all at once.
by noon, i felt safe again and i set my slack status to “lunch”. i grabbed my keys to run out to cava. i got in the car and my phone rang, it was my job’s contracting company.
“hello?” i answered.
“hi, i’m sorry to inform you that your contract has been terminated at the employers request, effective immediately,” she said.
those four seconds were back, those four long seconds where i didn’t know what to say and it felt like a hole formed at the center of my body.
“what, why?” i asked.
“i don’t know, they didn’t give a reason. but someone from hr will be calling you shortly for your next steps. i’m sorry.” she hung up.
i didn’t know what to do. i got out of the car, ran back upstairs, and opened the door to my mother’s confused face. “i just got fired,” i blurted before i even closed the door. i ran over to my work laptop left on the kitchen counter, frantically typing in my password. i opened slack to see my boss online, the message i sent on friday still sitting in the thread, unacknowledged. i sent her a new message informing of her of what just happened—as if she didn’t know, as if she didn’t make the decision to fire me because my daughter stays home with me. i asked to talk, and foolishly waited for a response. and then, my computer went blank—it was being wiped.
it was august. it’s always august.
i fell to the floor. my hands were ice cold as if the life was leaving my body, consumed. my mother rushed to hold me, and i cried in her arms, as i always did in august.
i began applying for jobs.
i was qualified, if not, overqualified for every job i applied for. i reached out to my friends in the industry to keep my name in mind for any positions they saw. it was august, but it had been august. while i lost jobs, i always got another one. until i didn’t. because now, it wasn’t just august anymore, it was the dark side of august. the dark side of august, when nothing grows, and everything is dying of thirst.
i applied for hundreds of jobs. i was contacted for an interview by two. one was a scam, and the other spent the entire interview asking why i wanted the job because i was severely overqualified for the position. i gave the best answers i could without revealing that i was a single mother of an autistic child who just needed some money, that i didn’t want to be a burden daughter who needed her mother to hold her up, that i was losing everything to the august sun, and for the first time, i couldn’t get it back. maybe, i would’ve been better off telling the truth, because i didn’t get that job.
i applied for jobs daily without expectation, just to say that i did it. applying for jobs constantly is exhausting and disheartening. i sat in a pile of dark ashes of everything that i had grown in my life, holding my daughter, looking at God. screaming at God. begging God. the walls were whispering “curse God and die”. but, it felt like God was cursing me. it felt like every weapon against me was prospering. it felt like every wicked spirit was watching me as i sleep, waiting.
i tried to keep my hands busy so my mind wouldn’t fall as my heart already had. i organized, and reorganized. i went through old boxes, old versions of myself. and, in them, i found an echo. my own voice coming back to tell me something only i could say. i found a book of poems and stories i wrote when i was ten. i always wanted to be a writer. but, i went to school to become a scientist. and, one day i just stopped writing, a day i don’t exactly remember. i realized, it wasn’t until it never stopped being august, it wasn’t until i was back where i started, that i started writing again.
child of august, your tears flow like rivers in the holy land
chosen by fire, do not hide your face
your ashes feed the soil and the fruit of the spring
child of august, darkened by light
God will bring you through the fire, do not hide your face
child of august, you are chosen
it’s a monday in august, actually august, and it’s my birthday. the moon isn’t full, but i am. my mom is here, next to me. i didn’t make a wish, i let my daughter blow out the candle. in august, i realized much of what i’ve been wishing for wasn’t in alignment with who i am, or who i’m meant to be. my only wish is to not be a burden daughter anymore, and i think i’m getting there. i still don’t have a job, but i have a substack.
it has been august for six years. everything that i thought was me was consumed by the dark august sun. i was thirsty, yearning for a heaven i didn’t know to miss. and, it was my younger self, it was the girl i was before i decided she needed to be better, it was her who came back to save me. like many black kids, i didn’t know art was an option. but, as i was looking through those old boxes—those past lives haphazardly thrown into dusty cardboard—i realized art was my only true option. there in those boxes was an entire version of myself that i had forgotten, a girl that i set on fire to become someone i was never called to be. sometimes, the wrong path is a good one. until it’s not. sometimes, where you’re meant to go, is where you started.
today, i’m a writer, again. today, i hope it will finally be september.
When I tell you I could literally feel my tear ducts getting PRIMED. You write so beautifully, and a GARGANTUAN "Fuck You" to that bitch who fired you because you wouldn't perform "office politics" for a remote job?!
The burden daughter part hit me hard as hell, and I'm glad you found your poetry again because damn do we need it on here. Bravo!!
asaaaaa angel i love you