Black Jesus and Other Superheroes: Stories by Venita Blackburn:
Big uncle told me it would be this way. Small uncle just sucks on caramel chews every moment he takes a breath. Mo didn’t want an epidural because she didn’t want the drugs to block the bonding process between her and the babies. She just keeps telling us she is dying and looking at us like we don’t believe her and there is no hope, and it breaks my heart. All I can do is make promises and sip on a sweet drink for energy. She walks around because the midwives make her. Mo says she has to poop over and over. She had to have the babies. The twins, a boy and a girl, come out fast. The midwife passes each one quick, unceremoniously, onto a table. They lie there oily like two humongous fists that fell out of a mouth, unhappy and almost humiliated or robbed of something wonderful. Twins are freaky. They represent some epic balance, the dichotomy of good and evil, Mars and Venus dynamic, or the potential for a catastrophic error.