Crank (Crank 1)

for just one more taste of the monster?

Where would I start?

Where would I finish?

How much to admit?

How much to hide?

How much to confess?

Where would I find such nerve

without crank to open my mouth?

And if I did dig down deep enough to find it,

would I crumble and weep?

Would she?

The Kitchen Was Warm

and carried a scent

of hot butter, wrapped

in cinnamon.

It reminded me

of when I was little.

Before Jake.

Before Scott.

Despite Dad.

Back when I still believed

Mom was the perfect mother.

She, Leigh, and I were the trinity.

We baked together.

Canned together.

Planned together.

Plotted birthdays

and holidays around

homemade gifts

that didn’t cost much