sometimes a mother’s love isn’t medicine

I have two daughters
but one child
she has no siblings
but there are two of her
the one that held my hand
and laughed at my smile
and asked me questions,
sitting on the kitchen floor
viewing me as a skyscraper
and the one who
thinks blood shot eyes are the new black
and that lying is
a solution
she collects bottles of alcohol
and lost count of her
one night stands
every new one
is a reason to stop
for twenty three hours
and then the reason
binge
so close to death that
the graves become pillows
a mother would rather be blind
than watch a butterfly
lose its wings,
when it can’t be called a caterpillar

 

__ar.

 

(Addictions poem from the perspective of the mother)

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