as a kid
there's nothing
like wasting away inside a tiny
room
sitting on the backrest
of the couch
looking out the window
and seeing her
tread through the rain

a red umbrella covers
her.

Mother

she's going back
to the liquor store

He kept his mother
in a sealed envelope,
waxed,
stored in the back
of his closet
like so many
old sweaters,
not worn but kept
for the memories.
I caught him once,
crying, kneeling
before her. He held
her ashes like
she once held him.
And through a gap
in his fingers
I could read
the ink that said:
    Date of death: 12/10/17
    Date of cremation: 12/12/17
    Store in a cool, dry place.

There was a knock in the door
at about six AM

He wouldn't have opened if
he didn't check
through the peephole. It was
his aunt. Why would
she visit at a time
like this?

When he opened the door
she slapped him
across the face. "You *******
monster! You had the money, you
*******! You had the money all along!
You could pay for your mother's operation
and you didn't. You watched
her die in horrible
pains! How can you live with yourself?"

Ah yes, he knew what she
was talking about. But there
was no point explaining. He
closed the door in her face

went back to bed

"Who was it?" his girlfriend asked. "Another
one of your crazy exes?"

"No. It was my aunt who doesn't
have what I call internet education."

"What?"

"Internet education, dear. Rule number
one: not everything you see
on social media is true. Just because
I pose at the wheel of a brand new
Lamborghini doesn't mean I own
the **** car and am therefore
rich as ****, you know?"

"What kind of idiot would think that?"

"Oh, you'd be surprised..."

Dad was fat all his life
Obese
He couldn’t do a lot of things.
Walk without special help
Bathe
Climb stairs
Sit in a normal chair
Drive a normal car
Sleep in a normal bed
And say “I love you, son.”

To draw those words out
of his dad he became a cartoonist,
but that also failed.

And now that his father
was dead,
collapsed face down
on the kitchen floor,
blood seeping out of a head wound,
he struggled to turn him over
on his back
and dipped his finger in the blood
and drew a speech bubble
next to his father’s head
and wrote in it the famous words.

Finally.
“I love you too, dad.”

I used to think there were healthy people and sick people.
Turns out there are no healthy people at all.
Everybody's got something.
My husband sometimes can't walk. And he sometimes can't breathe. And he sometimes can't eat. And he sometimes can't speak.
What about yours?
Sometimes I can't think.
And I can't get up.
And I can't stop thinking.
And I can't sit still.
And I can't start.
And I can't stop.
And I can't hope.
And I can't forget.
And I can never remember.
And I can't live.
And I can't die.
And I can't remember why.
Sometimes I want to just blip out of existence, like I never took up space to begin with.
Sometimes.

What about you?

What about you?

mashed potatoes
poached eggs
beans
and some homemade garlic sauce
but no meat for the
princess's sensitive stomach

"I'm full," she said

"No, you are not," said mother. "Eat up. Finish
everything from your plate
and trust me, it's been calculated. It's
the right amount. Now eat up."

Father agreed. Being a step-father he
didn't have much of a say in this
matter or any other

It took the princess another twenty
minutes to finish the
food from her plate
and then stood
and went to the bathroom but
it wouldn't be that simple. Mother had to go in
with her

And she did
and both of them came out and
the princess went to her
room
and mother started cleaning the table
always just one step away from
bursting into tears
which gave her new husband some work
with emotional support and all

A princess doesn't steal
but this was a desperate princess
she locked the door to her room
and pulled out from under her
shirt the
roll of plastic bags
took one
opened it
sat on the bed leaning forward
elbows on knees
face before the bag

and she didn't even have to
put the fingers in her mouth
the ***** just came
every bit of mashed potatoes
and poached eggs and every pea
and the homemade garlic sauce

She tied the bag
it felt very warm in her hands
placed it under her bed
got her phone and sent a text

in twenty-something minutes
he was under her window
and she threw him the bag of *****
and he walked away with it
carried it to a trash bin far from her home

He was such a sweet guy for
doing all this for her
He was her prince
Except he still kept his frog form
even after all the kisses and *******
after school

but well,
when you're desperate...

well
there's plenty of cutesy names to
call one's children
but his was 'unlovable trash'
He remembered it from the time he was in the crib
They held him there
for longer than most parents
held their kids in cribs. Though only dad
called him so
because he constantly claimed he wasn't his

unlovable trash

he had the wrong skin tone
was too pale
with curly orange hair
and freckles

but mom always pretended she didn't
hear
the words
unlovable trash
she would act as if they were never uttered

and growing up
he thought
unlovable trash was a good thing
thought it was how you show love to your loved
ones

"Mom, you’re unlovable trash."

she was so happy to hear it
she burst into tears and went into the
kitchen and uncorked a bottle of wine
and drank it all by herself. What an
unlovable trash she was

Unfortunately
by the time he could pronounce the lovely
words
father was no longer in his life
but father too
was an unlovable trash

In these dark mornings
I pray to feel your touch
Lure me back into bed
Warm hand on my back
Fingers in my hair
Lips on my arm
Praying harder than the day I die
That you were here to keep me from getting up

Awake again, another day
Coffee as brown as her eyes meet me from
The mug she made me.
The heater keeps the cold away
But not as well as her breath
Or her skin against mine,
The shower head begins to spray
Steaming water that I ever wish were
Her fingers, streaming down my back.
Our frustrated feelings start to fray
As we play witness to others begin life together
As we've worked so hard to achieve.
But I will be the ceramic and not the clay,
Steadfast and unyielding until mine is mine
And hers is hers because by god --

Awake I will be in the suns first rays,
Wrapped in arms and light and soft brown hair
And eyes like coffee that will beg me back to bed.