(After Mary Oliver) I worry most of the time, Will the mangoes rot? Will the marigolds wither before my twenty-first birthday? Will the Ebola virus take my life? And if not, what must I do to live? Have I been forgotten by God? Should I forgive people? How do I prove myself? Can I dance? Even the sunflowers twirl and nod to the vivid sunshine. Well, I am hopelessly impassioned. What if I am diagnosed with Alzheimer's? What if the epidemic days return? But what can I do? Worrying strains me. So I gave up, looked at myself, plucked the marigolds, adorned them into my braids and danced till midnight. Bidya B.