the feeling of a fleeting summer
the anxiety of a loss
snow plows out at
2:30 am
and in my bed I toss

momma fell asleep at the wheel again
mommas on her meds like always
I took a few pills
from her purse for thrills
they end up tasting like empty hallways

poignant, pulsing, peppered pills
give me some water to drown it out
you know I've always hated the sound
of open doors closing

what a little girl
would give
to have
a mother back-
healthy
to have a mother back-
again
to have a mother that was present;
a mother that wouldn't resent
you for being part from him

Is the blanket blue or green?
Who's blind now?