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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.
