it’s a sickness

Early Onset

The gray moth flickering
back and forth beneath

the kitchen’s round florescent
light.  My mother sobbing

with the same tone as our dog
crying outside the kitchen door.

My father pushes her face
away, stalks into the bathroom.

I drag my arms around my mother,
promise to take more pills, twice

as many vitamins. She collapses,
pulling me with her.  I lay next

to her, our heads underneath
the table, stroking her hair

full of crumbs and broccolli.
She curls into a ball away from

me. Picking at the scabs on my
cheeks.  The dust wavering

in delicate strings down from
the hidden ribs of the table.

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