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poetry: tell me something

i would sniff strawberry shortcake’s 
hair in my dark closet when sad. 
baby’s first dopamine hit. later
i’d imagine someone wanting to
sniff me. being comfort sounded
right. wooden bowl of oatmeal.
knitted blanket tucked around
shoulders. pile of old books.
motherhood touched this. briefly.
rock. sing. cuddle. being enough
for a time. mother’s first dopamine
hit. now, comfort is fog blowing
in and out. i sniff strawberries
but only worry they will spoil
early. too soft. wasteful. words
don’t chase me. slower. slower.
s l o w e r. hide under blanket 
with phone. tell me something.
dopamine hit me. hit me. hip
hurts me. comfort turns sour.
sniff something, anything. no,
call me comfort. call me. me.

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poetry: four birds

i’m thinking of birds
flying into the blue.
sky and waves. not
last night’s takeout
staring at me.
turn the heating
pad even higher.
shift. shift. shift.
watch another murder
mystery. blink.
dozens of prisms
scatter broken light
across striped chairs.
missing another meeting.
dodging another call.
drink more water.
another handful of pills.
swallow the dust.
look out.
four of them.

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poetry: what’s that sound {again}

maybe it was chimes i heard or someone playing
a glockenspiel. it made me jump. like it always 
does. it could be the man coming down 
my apartment hallway holding a gun. no, 
that was a nightmare. it was a knife at my throat
and i was at work. he told me he was jesus.
i am okay now. it was long ago. but i jump, 
again, because what is that sound? it could 
be the circus i saw out the car window. remember 
when the performers fell? all that blood. no, 
that was a nightmare, too. it was my son 
being hit by a car. the police knocking.
his face was the blood i saw. his hands. 
but what is this sound? wind chimes? 
neighbor’s music? my son’s tv? i walk 
around the house and light candles
because you never can tell
what’s that sound.

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