mommy dearest

i'm here to talk about my mother

the woman who carried me for nine months

and gave birth to me

that sounds a lot like most mothers, right?

right.

but that is where the similarities stop.

i've written a lot of poems about my mother

but this one's different

this one isn't much of a poem

it's more like a recipe for disaster.

to create this recipe you will need the following:

two people, married for seven years, ready to start a family.

a child, born in the sixth month of the year 2000.

a bottle of pills that stopped working a while ago.

grapes. a LOT of grapes.

a sheet of paper ready to be signed by a mom and dad.

a suicide attempt.

one more person. make sure he's a jackass.

and space. about 20 miles will do.

have you got them? good.

step one: take the two people and give them the child born in june. make sure she keeps them together for another seven years. that's important.

step two: make sure one of these people, let's call her mom, is absolutely miserable. she begins to take out her pain on her family. she throws things, screams things, leaves for hours on end, walking down the dark streets alone. i still don't know where she went.

step three: give her pills, preferably antidepressants. they'll work for a bit, but eventually her body will stop responding to them. and the misery returns, along with the throwing, screaming, leaving. she'll start drinking. you'll need the grapes to keep her happy. keep making wine, even though it's never enough. i used to love the taste of grapes on my cheek at bedtime. and that's when you reach

step four: get out the piece of paper and make mom and dad sign it. they're no longer married. more wine. more screaming. but this time there's no one there to block it.

step five: go to your bathroom. find your mom throwing up tens of pills. run as fast as your eight year old legs will go and call 911. watch your mom cry and apologize for everything she's done. watch her fade. the police will come and take her away. but she'll be back. don't worry.

step six: bring her back home. put her on a dating site where she meets a new man. again, make sure he's a jackass. he gets off on having sex in front of ten-year olds, specifically the daughter of the woman he's with. try not to look.

step seven: wait. let the water boil. let the cake bake. let the dough cool overnight. and then, in about seven years, grab the child again. she'll be about, what, seventeen? take her to her mother and have them argue. have the mother kick her out. have her move in with her dad. 20 miles. too far from home yet not far enough.

i haven't ever written my own recipe. i'm not much of a chef. i can't cook to save my life. but luckily, i didn't have to write this. life did it for me.