While I was dropping acid
and lying on the carpet
in my underwear,
you were at home
baking chicken and washing clothes.

I didn't think of you then,
during those summers
when I spent my student loans
on tattoos and pot.
I was living my life.

But I remember when you called
me the day after
my twenty-first birthday
to tell me that he had taken
a shotgun down to the river.

You waited for me to come down
to taste the family dying.
You were my mom then
more than ever before.

05/07/2012

Posted on 05/07/2012
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