June 85

I dream everyday

In the hopes of being warmer than the kitchen tiles
And cleaner than the sink,
Tougher than these brick walls
And sweeter than the alcohol she used to drink

I remember her stick thin waist, almost too fragile to touch
What I wish I could forget, was that silly doll she cared for all too much
And the strands of hair lurking in each room
With the only thing brighter than her face - the moon

Her hands were like the bristles on my toothbrush
It had the uncontrollable urge to clean
This was not the only thing that she couldn’t control
Eating soon became a chore

To the point where she lost control,
Of her mind, her body and soul
She was a fragile bird too weak to fly on her own
Weightless and always cold, as pale as a bone

I am not withered, but alive
As I enter this space for the very last time
I can see myself back in June of 85
Cleaning our window seals and grime

I am a part of these fragile walls
Because she was also…a part of me