Maya Williams

Lucknow, India 2017

I begin to accept the sun’s personal mission to wake me up at 4 am in the morning through the large cascading windows of the apartment. How can I be mad at him for emphasizing my favorite part of this place? I stretch out my toes and feel the lack of socks. He’s made me the hottest I ever felt in years.I haven’t slept with socks or blankets on in a month.

Good morning, Good Morning. I am awake now.

I hear the bustle of rickshaws and distant conversations from early risers outside.He gets too much out of getting folks’ days started. I think about how my mother’s day just ended.

I should call her to let her know I am okay. Let her know I will go to therapy again.

Good Morning asks me to ignore that. So I play Halsey and Allie X’s albums. I listen to “Casanova” three times.

I head to the refrigerator and grab a fresh plump mango. I puncture the skin with my front teeth and slurp the sweet syrup like a smoothie.

We have a lot of people to meet today. I hope I do not get sad again.

Good Morning asks me to ignore that. So I suck my mango dry and return to my bedroom. I lie down and stare at him through my favorite part of this place.

I know we need to say goodbye in a couple of months.

Good Morning asks me to ignore that.

In our dream band, on flute:

Maya Williams (ey/they/she) is a Black Mixed Race suicide survivor and poet. Ey is Portland, Maine’s seventh Poet Laureate. They have published in venues such as Homology Lit, glitterMOB, Occulum, The Portland Press Herald, Black Table Arts, and more. You can follow her work at

Flute used by Alton Augustus Adams Sr., Collection of the Smithsonian National Museum of African American History and Culture, Gift of Alton A. Adams, Jr. Trustee

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