Walking on Glass
Page 2
echoes through
my mind.
I race downtown
with soap and paint thinner.
Instead of freeing the eagle,
I smudge it into
nothing.
VISITING MOM
The beeping
from her machines
shrieks.
A reminder
her soul is tethered to the ground,
a captive falcon,
circling in confusion,
longing for someone
to set it
free.
I remember the Mulier’s eagle
smudging away,
and I think maybe sometimes
nonexistence
is better than being
caged.
JUST DO IT
I stand watching her.
I want to smack her
for putting us through this.
I want to scream,
“Why didn’t you want to live?
You’re supposed to want to stay here
with us!”
If she’s going to die,
she should get it over with
and just
do
it.
MAYBE
Dad’s right.
Maybe
Mom will fight.
Maybe
she will come back.
Maybe
things will change.
Maybe…
A PARTY
Right now,
I want to party
as much as I want to
shove glass under my fingernails.
Jack says, “I’ll pick you up.”
So I go.
THE NEW GIRL
At the party
there’s a
new girl.
Alissa.
Alissa
smiles at me.
I smile
back.
AM I?
Jack yells
at his mother.
Her tears dry
on the cold linoleum.
Like the blood
I found on the floor
of my house.
Later, I say,
“You should be nicer
to your mother.”
Jack says,
“You’re turning into a wuss
like your father.”
And I wonder
if I am.
JUST BECAUSE
I can’t believe it.
Just because I blow up at some kid,
I have to see some
school counselor,
who is going to overanalyze
everything
I do.
It’s bad enough that I have to see
Dr. Mac once a week,
because of my stupid mother.
I’m refusing to go.
ANXIETY ATTACKS
I have to dissolve
one tiny tablet
under my tongue
every night.
But unlike the pill,
the pain won’t
melt away.
ALISSA’S SONG
Alissa sings in the choir.
A soloist,
with a voice
beautiful enough
to make anyone’s problems
disappear.
Almost.
By the way,
I didn’t mean it.
Mom’s not
stupid.
WHAT’S WRONG WITH ME?
I stand over Mom,
shaking inside,
and wonder why she did it.
Why she didn’t think
about anyone
but herself.
Why she didn’t think
about us.
Why she didn’t think
about me.
AFTER SCHOOL
Jack and some of the Crypt
push around
some kids from the choir.
Alissa is there.
“Knock it off, Jack,” I say.
“You gonna stop us?” he asks.
I don’t answer.
“Loosen up.”
Jack shoves my shoulder
and walks away.
JACK AND ME
I sit on my bed,
staring at the walls.
When we were eight,
Jack and I rode our bikes to the lake.
I remember having to pedal
against the wind
and was tired by the time we got
there.
When we were swimming,
a big wave washed over me
and was pulling me out
deeper into the lake.
Jack grabbed my arm.
He dragged me out of the water.
After that, we promised we’d be
best friends forever.
NURSES
Nurses lurk
around Mom’s bed
like vultures.
But Dad guards her—
a lion
ready to pounce on
the vultures as they swoop
to take away his mate.
He doesn’t seem to know
what the vultures
already know.
She’s gone.
WALKING ON BROKEN GLASS
If Mom came home,
things wouldn’t change.
Her mood would always flip
from bad to worse
in a matter of seconds,
and for the rest of our lives
Dad and I would
be walking on
shards of glass
from a broken
chandelier.
ALISSA
After French class,
Alissa says, “Bonjour.
Comment ça va?”
I say, “Lahblah.”
But she doesn’t
seem to mind.
HOMEWORK
Dad says, “Do your homework.
It’s important to get good grades
so you can go to college.”
I won’t go to college.
Mom’s machines suck the
money out of our lives.
Leaving nothing.
MONEY
Jack has so much
money
now
he just buys things
without looking
at how much they cost.
THE CONVERSATION
When I was fourteen,
I was suspended from school
because I was caught with drugs.
Mom freaked.
She yelled, “Drugs will take you on
the road to nowhere.
They’ll control your life
and you’ll end up a nobody
behind caged walls.
Don’t let anything trap
you like that.”
I wonder if she knew then
that she’d be the one
to trap me.
TALKING
Dr. Mac asks,
“How is school?”
“Great.”
“Do you have friends there?”
“There’s the girl I like, Alissa,
and there’s Jack.”
“Jack’s your best friend?”
“I guess,” I say.
“You guess?”
“He’s changing.”
“How’s that?” he asks.
I go on to tell him about
the look in Jack’s eyes
when he beat that kid up.
And how he took his shoes.
“Why do you suppose
Jack would steal the shoes
for you?” Dr. Mac asks.
“Huh?”
I look at him,
confused.
IF I COULD GO BACK
My teacher asks everyone,
“If you could change
anything in history,
what would it be?”
Kids say things like,
I’d prevent wars
or Bin Laden and Hitler
wouldn’t have been born.
Other kids nod their heads to agree.
When the teacher asks me,
I say,
“Four months ago,
I would have come home
five minutes earlier.”
Everyone looks away from me
like my face is on
sideways.
THE HOUSE
It’s too quiet
at home,
and it smells different.
There’s no longer
the scent of the fresh flowers
Mom always kept
in the living room.
Instead I smell
dust, rot, and,
even after cleaning the floor,
blood.
Why can I still smell
the blood?
THE DATE
Jack calls.
“Come on a run with the gang.
We’ll have a blast.”
“I can’t. I have a date
with Alissa.”
“Pussy whipped,”
Jack jokes.
I don’t answer.
“Later then.” He hangs up.
I borrow Dad’s car
to pick up Alissa.
After the show she asks,
“How’s your mother?”
“Same, I guess.”
Without saying anything,
she takes my hand
and I notice I can
breathe.
AFTER MY DATE
Everything seems normal.
Like nothing has happened.
Like Mom never did it.
Like it’s all a dream.
I look in Mom’s room
and expect to find her there.
But she’s not.
I pull her picture
out of my pocket
and rip it in half,
dropping it in the garbage
as I leave her room.
I’M SORRY
Clear tape
works miracles
on the back
of old photographs.
MOTHERS
Jack can’t see
mothers are fragile
like a robin’s egg
easily broken
by a child’s hand.
Every day
I make sure
I’m extra nice
to Jack’s mother.
So she knows
someone cares.
THINKING BACK
As I sit on the couch
staring at a cushion,
in silence,
I keep seeing Mom
curled up and gripping
this cushion on this couch,
alone,
crying
in the dark.
Instead of going to her,
I walked by.
Saying nothing,
like she was
invisible.
I hug the cushion
and smell it,
hoping to get a hint
of her perfume,
but it’s gone.
All I can smell
is the
dust
left behind.
I go to my room,
take a pill,
and turn up the music
loud
so I can forget what
I remember.
NORMAL DAYS
Alissa and I
go to the
arcade.
We meet some
of her friends there
and play pool in teams.
They treat me like
they can’t see the darkness
in the back of my mind
and I have
fun.
SPIRIT SCENTS
The wind blows
Mom’s rose petals,
scattering them
across her garden—
unwanted children
tossed aside.
I gather the petals,
put them into a bowl,
and place it beside
Mom’s bed.
They’re dead,
but their scent fills the room
like a memory.
MY ARM
The force
of the chandelier
crashing down
broke my arm.
Even though
the glass has all been
swept away
and my arm is healed,
it still hurts
when it
rains.
HARD CORE
“This sucks.
I’m tired of being
some kind of wannabe.”
Jack throws his beer bottle
under the graffiti
on the brick wall.
“I’m tired of it.
I’m going
hard core.”
SLEEPLESS
My father
cries out to Mom
in his sleep.
I slide from the warmth
of my bed
to sleep on the bumpy couch
in the living room,
where I’ll no longer
hear his calls.
ALISSA MEETS MOM
Alissa asks,
“Can I go with you
to meet your Mom?”
“I don’t think she knows
we’re there,” I say.
“That’s okay,” she says.
“Whatever.”
In Mom’s hospital room,
Alissa sits beside her.
She takes Mom’s hand gently,
like a veterinarian holds the
broken wing of a bird.
“Hello, I’m Alissa.
Pleased to finally meet you.”
Her voice
overpowers the
squawks of the machines
until I can hear
nothing else.
STOLEN SOULS
What’s left of the
old chandelier
is heaped next to the window.
And once in a while
the sun shines in
and rainbows dance
against the walls.
It’s as if the crystals
stole Mom’s spirit.
I hang the crystals
by the window
in Mom’s room.
I hope they
give her
spirit
back.
THAT KID
I see the kid.
He’s outside a white house
with a nice yard
and a dog.
He throws a football
with his father.
His mother comes outside smiling.
Carrying lunch.
Watching them,
I get the same feeling
I had when I was small
and Mom would chase me
in the backyard,
then pick me up,
wrapping me tight
in sheets straight off the line.
I wish I had
that kid’s shoes.
WRINKLES
Dad looks
older than he is.
Wrinkles line
his tired eyes
and his hair
is turning
gray.
He doesn’t smile
like he used to.
He won’t look at me.
IDENTITY
In the smoke-filled room at Vic’s,
Crypt members
and wannabes
gather,
drinking beer
and toking up.
Everyone is just one
big blob of blue
with no single
identity.
I can no longer
tell who is who.
SEVENTEEN
Jack turns
seventeen today.
He steals beer from his dad
and we go in the alley
behind the mall
to celebrate.
He drinks so much,
he stumbles.
People walk by,
laughing.