She plunked her fat wrists on her abundant hips
and chopped on candy kisses as if her teeth
were sharp daggers
the popping of air bubbles in her saliva echoed
balance wavered from shoes to shoe
as if spread across a teeter tatter

strands of carpet smothered by uneasy
paces around the living room
“He should be here by now,” she thought as
she watched the lime green clock digits increase

minutes later his truck spotlights erased the moons
reflection on the welcome mat
his tongue kissed her agitation away as he wrapped
his sweaty arm around her waist

the two bodies stumbled down the stairs like overcooked
noodles, boiled in liquor and stuck
together too long

mattress springs squeaked like tiptoes up wooden
stairs where her newborn baby slept
In his crib, he rocked himself to sleep, eyes
frostbitten from a drunken mistake
a 6pm vodka bottle substituted for milk

her baby turned three last week
I have become this mother’s
spectator in the psych ward
she has moved in permanently

there is a reoccurring pattern where the wallpaper
lolls like a broken neck, and two bulging
eyes stare at me upside down, disguised in the
gouged and splintered woodwork

behind this outside sequence, deceit cultivates oiled buttercups
strung over a scarecrow of frail bone
so
hungry
is this inclination toward depression that binds
wrists to leather straps and holds empty bodies against
beds as soft as rocks

her eyes travel through the ceiling
isolation causes her mind to hallucinate
as a lady with wrinkled skin and a white cloak
tries to bring her back

I watch her eyelashes whisper a rhythm of escape
burdens eat her insides like a hawk’s hunger licks
moisture from road kill
her treatment alters the will to exhale
as she squirms,
helpless
neck arched to face darkness

her bed sheets bleed stillness
crimson stains
blurry stars reflect onto pale cheeks
and I look up to count them