last day

things I have broken

fish
first, the gold
I overfed to
accompany me

second, the fighter
who jumped
from his cracked
bowl during a fire
when the water
boiled

faith
which I earned
during rides on
Sunday school
bus rides for
oatmeal creme pie
cookies

trust
in those taller
older, those adults
who always had
answers-who always
lied and lied and lied
promises are made
of delicate
porcelin
pots
burnt, scraped
misshapen from
kitchen experiments
hidden from a
mother who
rarely bothered
to use them

pipes
coke cans
glass pipes
pens, tubes
all crushed under
sneakers
evidence thrown away
poker face

lava lamp
hurled at my
sister, who’d
torn a friend
apart
a book, romantic
in nature
that soothed me
through long
nights
waiting

a small window
on the door
of a small house
I was locked out
sobbing, moving
from bad to bad
choices are not always
choices

my body
stomach stapled
removed, the ugly
part of myself
always hungry
yet despite its
absence-that
hunger never
leaves

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *