I wasn’t there the first time round when

the faithful were promised salvation

my life lived in lower case 

scribbled in six point font

smalling down to avoid scorch marks and ropey scars

looking for off ramps to distract

like the elastic of cotton underpants snapped 

against a six year old belly

like pins stuck in finger tips until my hands

looked like puppet porcupines

graduating to pills and white powder

the seduction of poisoned apples

sirens-ER-rehab-sirens-ER-repeat

my therapist says it’s a vegetative state

like the rotting eggplant and wilted lettuces

in my forlorn refrigerator

unlearning hunger, unlearning hope

but if you are still there and not mired

in the swales of depression

watching your lambs with wolves’ faces

fouling your six-day world 

I am more than willing to share my Zoloft my Seroquel

my Abilify if you think it would help

I know my prayers are maimed 

and mangled and misdirected

I know the golden calf looms luminous

with its promise of white powder 

But I missed you the first time round

will you die again for me