By Jael Bleecker
“But I am tired of claiming beauty where there is only truth.” – Jericho Brown, “The Rabbits”
It’s when your red face, sloshing jaw,
empty blue holes
swell above your first grin tonight,
big and shitty behind a shot of tequila.
That I don’t recognize you anymore.
All my life I’ve known Mom likes to drink
and it was fine.
Growing up plain, trauma was glitter.
And you always got it together
by the morning.
Now you eat bottles for breakfast.
Cry when your kids won’t come over,
at your own inability to ask for more.
Everyone keeps saying we can’t help because
you don’t want it. But you’ve been hijacked.
A week ago, I gave you an art kit
and really thought it would help. Now
I can’t stop thinking about how all my pets
have been D.O.A.
Or the way ladybugs are perfect until
that elytra bodice unbolts like a broken cabinet.
Spilling all that mismatched, smuggled ugly.
I miss when you held your best parts up to the sun.
Cause I didn’t know you were just trying to hide
that clunky inhibition under a pretty shell.
I don’t think you did either.
I don’t think I’ve ever said thank you
for always folding right back up in two.
While you could anyway.
Still, no part of you should be optional.
I’m sorry that we punish you for punishing yourself.
But Mom, the bottom looks terrible on you.
Jael Bleecker was born/raised in Queens, New York. Still there, she is a creative writing major with a 4.0 GPA. Jael loves animals and runs a professional pet-care business for a living. In addition to having her work published, Jael hopes to earn a degree in Egyptology and to be a winning contestant on Nailed It! She does not have any social media because her mental health can’t hang.
