Glass (Crank 2)

He scoots across the hardwood,

laughing. Finds the TV, punches

at buttons without success.

He’s determined. Determined,

like the person he so resembles,

the one I’ll see much too soon.

Being Here

At home

seems kind

of surreal. Okay,

maybe that’s partly

because I’m two-days

buzzed, brain a little fuzzy.

Beyond that, I know the room

upstairs still has purple butterflies,

fluttering on mauve walls. [Are you

sure? Maybe it’s an office, with turquoise

angelfish on blue walls.] No, I don’t think so.

Being here with Hunter is weird too. Kind of a

synthetic state of mother- hood, not so different from

being a nanny, because I know no matter what I do,

no matter how fucked up I am or become, he’s not

really my responsibility. Okay, morally, Hunter is

my responsibility. But Mom took it upon herself

to usurp the mommy role, so great. She taught me a

lesson. But who’s really getting hurt here? Not me.

[Huh. Really? Well, you sure could have fooled me.]

I Leave Without Seeing Mom

And that’s fine by me. Nothing

to say to her, anyway.