I gave myself bangs with cheap scissors in the middle of the night,“I can’t say I know what abandonment is like” he says,as I watch the Hoodoo practitioner pull Spanish Moss from a jar.“Can you imagine eternity?”She takes the tiny cloth bag and three rusty nails clink.“Did your mom rid you of evil eye and American sin?”He asks me what to take to a work potluck and how to use his health insurance.“I don’t know why I miss Anthony Bourdain so much…” muttered at the end of therapy.Probably the same reason I never felt like myself in a humid church.“Did you ever watch that movie? Past Lives?” because he’s happiest in a language I’ll never fully understand.“The algorithm suggested a documentary on maternal mortality rates in the mountains of Nepal”-I watch another tired mother’s bones shift into their new home as her belly turns soft.I miss his crystal covered hands the most.Anointed six times with oil and red lipstick.“That’s a pretty dress”,I knew what I was doing.