Howling eyes
feeding poison to my body  
it rests and swells
along with my brain
while I imagine
all the things that I am and will be  

Scrubbed clean,
my skin cracks and aches
I can fantasize about
putting one foot in front of the other
but I am toxic and
my arms are too large for me to lift
I shrink as I stretch and
then I can look and
then I can be touched

Soon my heart begins to pound
and my cheeks are flushed
I can smile and believe that
I deserve to be fed

i
my father’s smell
has taken over
our house
a sour layer
pressing
into my nostrils
when I open the door

I don’t live here
anymore
now
I’m gone
he sleeps in my bed
to be close to my mother
     well    closer     than
the basement guest room
anyway
when she leaves
he crawls
into the bed that used to be theirs
and sleeps
on her side

I came by
early one morning
to pick up the last of my things
and saw him sleeping there
hugging her
pillow

I felt sorry for him
sleeping there
like that
my mother
never liked
his smell
  
she would be so mad
   if she knew




she
       tried
                so
                     hard
to clean away the smell
from their sheets
         their mattress



ii
I have a sister
we were born
a     year     a    part
when
she was little
she explained her birth
told people
I moved out and
she moved in

when
we were little
we would crawl
in bed with mom
when
dad was out
of town we would talk
and giggle
we would watch movies
and eat
in their bed

                              the three of us would be crowded
                                                      ove­r as much as possible
                                                      to­ my mother’s side
screaming and laughing if
some       one       strayed
on dad’s sour side







ii
now,
my mother sits
in my kitchen smoking
cigarettes (checking first
because I don’t smoke)
she’s telling me
about her
new apartment
she’s very excited about
having her own space
            her own things
her own smell

apartments never smell
exclusively of
the present occupant
                                                        ­    
she knows this
she means
she will be able to stop
cleaning away my dad

her new place
doesn’t have
a dishwasher or
a balcony or
underground parking
she really wanted a balcony
so she could send people outside
to smoke

                                                          ­she’s going to quit
smoking before she moves

I nod and wonder
who these people are
that she will be entertaining
then I laugh and
say that I wanted
an apartment with
a bedroom
but
we take what
we can get


iv
my dad has
a new apartment
he lives with
the cats that used to be ours

I choke
in his space  
(hold my breath) when
he hugs me
his smell has devoured
all the others
left
in this apartment
it frightens me

my mother’s apartment smells
like cleaning products
       cigarette smoke
       perfume

my father’s apartment smells
like
despair
he doesn’t want
to clean it
away

Scrubbing the hardwoods, softly
on hands and knees

Not as gently as you would a child's face
closer to how you would scrub your own
to free it of grit: efficient, mechanical

The pine floors were laid one hundred and seventeen years ago
refinished until they are barely thicker than paper
the gaps are wide enough in spots to accept the length of my pinky
where the filling has loosened and been swept away
during our tenure

So I know to scrub softly
because I have been stabbed by the shards
that will break off and bite
getting lodged so deep in a hand or the meat of a foot
that a second person is needed to pull it out

These are not on the scale of shards, but stakes, I guess
that you could drive through the heart of tiny vampires
if those were the things in the world that
we needed to fear

This is what I think as I crawl down the hall
between my office and my daughter's bedroom, careful
to scrub away all of the dirt but not so hard
that I lift any of the watery drips of paint from when she trudges
to the bathroom to change out her brush water

They look like fallen tears
if tears had colour and didn't disappear when they dried

I leave those be and don't clean them away

I reset the clock and sent you away
at the correct hour you will cry your arrival
to take your place among the elements

We moan and play and push you forward. The future.
We have visions of you, a being already
keeping us safe.  We cover the walls with your image in paint.

I will be your mother
when I see in the mirror the future
that I mean to give you

At night, I think I hear your breath
the echoes of our own. I wake to listen:
You move beyond my ear

I cry, and wrap the blankets tighter around
my naked body shivering
I press my mouth against my lover’s back. The pillow we share

lulls me back into sleep. And I hear you now
faint whispered sighs;
that fade away in the morning.

feel the press-
sure of my lips-
stick

weighing down
my lips and
keeping me
from speaking

the layer of wax
that seals
my lips-
thick

mascara and eyeliner
make me
wide-eyed and bright
dry out my eyes
make them burn
stuck lashes
glued shut

the too round rouge
on my cheeks
gives a blush
not felt
smiles of wax
and layered colour
carefully applied
let me hide

it is not
yet that time
of night when
my make-up
is smeared and shifting
as though it becomes
restless from remaining
frozen in place  

when staring
in the mirror
nothing
will fix the
stumbling drunk
erupting beyond
the glass

oh my beauty,
I say
to my image
in wax,

I cannot see
my reflection
any more