Glass (Crank 2)

Look at yourself, Kristina.

You’re incapable of caring

for a baby. You’re off the deep

end. Do you want to drown him, too?

Her words bring back a dream

I had when I was pregnant.

A dream about Hunter drowning.

Suddenly it’s Bree I want to drown.

Bree and the fucking monster.

Tears well up, unbidden, and I

have no chance at stopping

them from falling. I want to die.

But all I can say at this moment

is, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Not Exactly Forgiven

SEMICONSCIOUS

On my big bed, swathed in mauve, almost catatonic,

some part of me does understand that I have deserted

my motherhood post, gone AWOL, at the urging of the

the enemy—the monster. But I think, if I can only sleep,

I’ll find a way back to the company of my family. They

have to forgive me, fold me in. Prodigal daughter, kill

the fatted lamb. The image comforts me. But not as much

as knowing I’ve still got a fat stash of ice in my car, safe

inside its lockbox. And I’ve still got Trey, safe in memory.

November Empties

Into December and life

has taken on a certain

rhythm.

Bumpy,