She’s on the couch now — he’s left — she gets up; third glass now. Eight in the morning now with a toothache. Pops another bottle. That’s three labels covered in her name in the trash now. Swallows hard — it’s a habit now. Sits down — her shows on now. She falls asleep and dreams of sound. Heart pumping hard, she wakes up and he’s there with new legs now. He’s on TV and she yells. He cuts her throat and he’s gone now. The blood is pink insulation and she’s up now. Door’s still locked but he’s back in the bathroom brushing his teeth when they all fell out. She picks them up off the floor and he’s out the door. She starts crying; can’t remember high school. Black and blue, she gets another bottle. Three down, asses up, one straight up, asses down. She’s sitting in the kitchen in her own blood and vomit now. Hair’s thinning now. She needs a minute now. But now is gone and hits the pavement now. And that’s it. Dropped the bottles and that’s when mommy stopped drinking juice and eating so much candy. That’s when mommy’s brain was never the same. That’s when mommy’s heart twisted up and squeezed all of the sugar out of her lungs. Oh — that’s when mommy died too.
