Irreplaceable

IRREPLACEABLE

 

With my mother gone 

I’ve forgotten everything she taught me.

 

I left the back door unlocked all night

so anyone could just walk in.

 

I left the key in the lock outside

just to make it easier.

 

I locked the car keys

inside the car.

 

I don’t do the dishes right after dinner

or the morning after that.

 

“A person who does not do the dishes right after dinner,”

she told me, “Is a slob.”

 

I am a slob without her,

a slug

 

a shapeless mass of guts

a hunger.

 

I don’t brush my teeth,

don’t get up in time for class.

 

I cross the street without looking both ways.

I know what happens to people who do that;

 

They get squashed, run over flat.

My mother told me.

 

I’ve been

run over.

 

I’m a rolled-out pie crust

heavy and dull, as lard.

 

Words escape me…

like bubbles leaving tonic flat.

 

I can’t get them back.

I am unable to speak like a civilized person.

 

I am uncivilized

as I was before she shaped me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

What are you looking for?