she comes home to her mother passed out on the couch, still clad in an unseemly silver dress, makeup still slathered on her face. her mother's hands still clutch a bottle of cheap wine from the convenience store tightly, although she doubts that the older woman notices or cares how expensive or tasteless the liquor tastes. all that matters is the alcohol. all that matters is how it makes her forget, how it fends off the pain. she puts her mother to bed, although the ratty couch is more familiar. the faded blue fabric of the piece of furniture exactly how her mother feels: blue. she heats up whatever leftovers sit in the fridge and eats her poor excuse of dinner while doing her english homework. the light outside dims as the sun prepares for bed, and she along with it. using her covers as a shield, she allows herself to wallow in self-pity for that's the only time she can break down. in the morning she leaves for school early.
later in the afternoon she comes home to her passed out on the couch, still clad in an unseemly silver dress, makeup still slathered on her face.
- LIQUOR HOMES ARE ALL SHE KNOWS [ALTERNATIVELY NAMED: HELP ME FORGET - 7.29.16]
YOU ARE READING
OF THE LIKE
PoetryLIKE THEM; the cunning, the strong, the rational, the sensual, the rash. POE19 [151016]
