my daughter tantrumed so bad
that a woman accused me of
disturbing the peace
and threatened to call the cops.
life was one long screaming,
him in the house,
her on the concrete,
the little one in the crib.
my ears echoed all the time.
there were bottles and bottles of pills
to even out the chaos. i was the housewife
knocked out on benzodiazepines,
cabinet full of options
when there were none.
there were no poems
only what the fuck is wrong with you
and no and no and
a running wondering about
how stupid could someone be.
here’s what i’m afraid to say:
i own this morning. these hours are mine.
and you can go ahead and call the cops
or raise your voice or your hand or
damage my reputation.
everything has already been lost
and yet here i am.
this is mine