It’s that constant uneasy sensation
in my belly when I see my mother notice.
Her face is red and her pupils are small
and she can’t stop talking- like the drugs
remover the filter between thoughts and words.
She’s high again and mom can’t bite her tongue.
The anger spills as poisionous as venom of a funnel-web spider-
she kept her warm while she
grew in the womb.
She begged for money from neighbors
to buy her milk when our father spent
all of theirs on beer and pot… again.
She took her to specialists
when she was ten and her body wouldn’t
raised hell when the bullies had her
too scared to go to school
and she is thanked for all of this by finding
four grand missing from the account meant to
save our house from foreclosure
and getting home from work to find items missing-
sold to support a habit.
And I slink away, uncomfortable,
when the words get loud enough to wake the neighbors.
Because on one hand I value my mother
more than I do the breath in these lungs but
the sensation creeps in from childhood like a knee-jerk reaction-
when overhearing my sister get scholded
and worrying that I would be next
even though I did nothing wrong.
And once upon a time-
we built sand castles
and fought over boys
and straightened each other’s hair
and covered when one was doing something
we knew we shouldn’t.
But now all I can see is these inhuman eyes
and a selfish soul
and the person who has made my home
not feel much like home anymore
“When You Live With An Addict”- 2-12-14- jessicagadziala