The only part of my day
That I look forward to
Is when I go to bed
And lay there making up scenarios
In my head.

I think of comebacks
To 8th grade bullies.
I think of witty retorts
To my mother's snide comments.
I think of intelligent things to add
To conversations I had months ago.

I think of all the things
I was too scared to say.

And in my mind
I say them.
And pretend how things would be different
If only I had the courage to speak.

I had a list.
It was important,
which is why
I lost it.

I had a list.
It was filled with
things to do
      vs
things not to do,
questions, quotations,
1-800 phone numbers
from late night TV.

I had a list.
Remember to buy vinegar.
Remember who I am.
Channel Grandma.
Pair up socks.

I found a list -
I wish it was mine.

Unanswered questions

2.. Overloaded backpack

3. Night terrors

4. Unwritten poetry

5. More anger than I probably know

6. My mother's voice

7.  Deep love for purple

8.  Responsibility vs Irresponsibility

9. Desperations

10. Tenacity

I wish it was just a story.
I wish she didn't think it was.
And I wish that she'd understand that not all stories ,make believe or not, don't always have a happy ending.
I wish she'd tell me I'd be alright.
I wish she'd help me.
I wish she'd believe me.
I wish this was a story.
But it's not.
And I wish that it never happened.
But she doesn't believe that.
She never would.
Because it's all just a story.
Just a story

Poet,
where are you?
Did I miss the memo
giving your notice
to vacate?
Are you frozen,
did you get burned?

Poet,
where are you?
I will meet your demands.
All the ink in any color,
all the paper you can fill
and you won't have to be succinct
or quiet or right side up.

Poet,
you've been inside me
from bone to skin
and without you
my soul is unprotected,
a lifeline gone.
Where are you?

Again

In the bathroom mirror there lives a lady
I see sometimes when I brush my hair.
She has my mother's face, her aloneness.
Sometimes I ask her  Are you ready for this
fight, are you strong?  
Strongly afraid, she replies
and I reach to touch her cheek, stop just short
when I realize she is gone - again -
and I walk out of the bathroom
into the day.


Anne Curtin