Addiction, Anorexia, Archetypes, Biofeedback, Body Image, Bulimia, character study, Colorado, Death, depression, Dharma, Dichotomies, eccentric, Existentialism, Expansion, Family, introvert, Mental Health, Micro Non-Fiction, Non-Fiction, poetry, PTSD, Self Growth, Self Reflection, Yoga

mom is wow spelled upside down

mom is wow spelled upside down

Cat midnight,
and you slink
down
the stairs.

I’m up this late and you are up this late
For reasons that have no desire to be
Reconciled.

Purple pill
ending its life in your stomach
Or at least I imagine
Its purple.

You always hide
your shame
so well. Maybe
a gel cap, but probably  like a
small moon, a lunar eclipse
in your stomach.

I hear you
using one cigarette to light
another
Pushing them between a dopey smile
that you have forged
Like you somtimes forge
your affection
for me.

You went to New Orleans
I think that makes me jealous
Of a popcorn yellow
station wagon, driving far far
to the hot safe space
of French quarters and bright
red lobster claws.

Home shopping network.

Buy your mental health.

Rum and coke.

Watching fireworks
hearing the clink of ice
in your glass filled with brown.

I think of the morning when the shadow
people
are no more.
I watch the blender vomit
mango, yogurt, banana, peach
Into the purple-white pills
Inside your warm tummy.

Disheveled, slurred words.
Comfort
in my addiction and
yours.

You stay awake in pill-haze
and I stay awake in speed-frenzy.
My arm itches.
I should know not to use
a dull needle.
You should know not
to take the moon on an
empty stomach.

Long orange cigarette ashes
fall in pieces and flit
in my eyes that are
huge as plates.
Flashing lighter, alchemy
in the spoon.

We have not gone to bed.

I stay awake and listen
for what you think are
gentle footstpes.

And if you want me to think they are
quiet.

I will.

5/6/2004 revised 4/8/2017