Family of Five

Solidarity in my pill box

Five meds each day

Should I test fate/ith again?

go from five to zero in one second flat?

go off the guard rail along the mountaintop I’ve climbed – not theirs, or yours – 

the rock I was sold without purchase from my Mayrig and our bloody news-ed time.

A red tie recently reminded me mountain ranges are alive to create borders of man’s cognitive land

flood lights shine from the shore to steer the boats

with only one life

jacket made of quicksand cement

the toddler refuge-e lays face down, the moon pulled the tide away

a girl, wearing my favorite childhood dress, size 4T

green and white checkerboard, made from the tablecloth scraps

paper dolls holding hands around the margins of the skirt

It was the last dress she remembers loving, skirts leave little protection,

I am awfully dry for being dead in the water

I wake up from our dream, in solitary.

They offer me newspaper clippings to wipe my ass, but I refuse.

Humanity in the cell across the way has a pile of empty tempered headlines pilling outside their door.  

I know I will meet them soon because the writing on their cell door reads “Tuesday.”

note: Mayrig is the Armenian word for mother

Photo by Dallas Reedy on Unsplash

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s