from beneath the sheets
soiled with neglect
makes his way carefully
past the shallow-breathed crumple
that lay milky-eyed in a heap
un-moving on the floor
save a twitch of the sodden head
this wreckage is his mother
why do you just lie there mother
my head is full of demons son
the response only imagined
she remains slack and death-like
where nocturne angels of sweet release
had laid down lush upon her
in fevered embrace
lustfully conjured
by last night’s spoon and lance
still skewered silver in the soured vein
mother — why do you want to die
the return is only silence
he lingers but a moment
verifying life
then moves on
head down
trying to remember
his mother’s eyes
he angles to the bathroom
to the scum-brown bowl
to wash his face
a face lit sallow by the yellowed bulb
that hangs bare and lonely
eyes of knowing
eyes of sadness
stare into the mirror
broken as his heart
then close
your eyes hold a story my son
will you tell me your story
yes mother
if you really want to hear it
if you really could
rob kistner © 2020
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Oh Rob, you’ve got me crying here. Crying for a son denied a decent parent. Crying for a parent torn apart by something the boy had no control over. Crying for ears that were not able to hear.
As I said to Ken, we all know it happens everyday Lisa. All we can do is pray it doesn’t happen to our friends and family. I have had friends touched by addiction. It ‘s ugly stuff.
It’s happened to too many people in my world.
It is a vicious trap, once you’re ensnared. It steals everything from you.
Speechless…
Except very moved.
It happens everyday, somewhere Ken. I used to volunteer some years ago for a crisis line. I finally had to stop.
I have come across such tragic stories in real life and this one made me cry, Rob. No child should have to deal with this. Every child matters. But I do ask myself why she is shallow-breathed and milky-eyed with a head full of demons? What happened to her to make her forget to love her son and instead embrace ‘last night’s spoon and lance / still skewered silver in the soured vein’?
Those are always the questions aren’t they Kim. Perhaps a victim of poverty, abuse, abandonment, arrogance, foolishness — life has so many ways to entrap one. Addiction occurs today among all income classes, and in every walk of life. More prevalent among the poor, but not exclusive to them. Opioids are now being abused to a too frequently fatal result. The world delivers so much stress and heartache. Sadly, some fall victim to drugs as a means to escape. Nobody decides they want to be addicted, but the loss of hope or great grief can be a gateway to self destruction.
A tragic and heart-wrenching tale, Rob. Addiction is one of the worst diseases.
It is Ingrid. And it is deceptively aggressive if misfortune places you in its path.
Breathtakingly beautiful. Every syllable of this is masterfully crafted, Rob. You’ve turned the language of realism and existentialism into poetry:
“a face lit sallow by the yellowed bulb
that hangs bare and lonely”
So much said in such spare words. Awesome. You take the laurels with this one.
Thank you Dora. I drew on unfortunate situations of people I knew and loved in my younger years. My memories are forever haunted.
Heart wrenching. Your descriptions are piercing and eloquent. The reality of this is so frustrating as cycles of self destruction continue.
Yes Mish, it id heartbreaking — but there, save for the hand of fate, go you and I.