in this house

we flush our problems down the toilet

so that suffering and grief is only ever the gurgle of water/ wondrous/

thirsty/ as it swallows whatever we need to get rid of.

this is how we did away with my goldfish

& they say,

too, that this is how my mama did away with my baby sister/ coathanger and toilet/

felt like wet paint. said it was all dark

/and warm red.

in this house we break teeth not bones;

here we are taught: love is not gentle or pretty.

love is mutilation, soft /soft hurt,

feeding me your bits of rotten meat/ and tender fatigue/

and praying

that when god forgets you

& you become nothing less/ or more

than carrion amongst carrion in still water,

she will give you a (new) body

so much greater

than this.

#poetry #fiction