Magic (2012)

Six in the morning, tick, tick

My solar plexus is monitoring my wavering instability;

Inaccuracy on high,

My daily regime begins with a tranquilizer

to keep me from drowning

keep me from breathing too deep

keep me from feeling the brush of my lover’s cheek against mine

keep me from feeling the sting of a lost childhood.

It’s six in the morning

and I’m not yet ready to be numbed.

My mind is dancing to the beat of disorder,

already spinning and twisting out of control,

daring me to lose myself

and yet I mechanically reach for the little orange bottle,

press hard a sweaty palm to its eager mouth.

The mirror betrays me, betrays my mother’s eyes,

my father’s nose, my grandfather’s bittersweet smile;

I wonder what he’d do

if he could see me now.

All that’s left of him

of us

is a low blur of a wayward woman,

an intoxicated prescription for a bit of medical magic,

and I will be just fine.

Just fine.