There is darkness tonight. Everything is slipping away. 

I think this as my child cries in the corner. Rocking chair passed down
from my mother. It is solid oak, with dark patches all over.
I placed my child there an hour ago. She has been crying since 9 pm.

There is a sadness in the air here. I feel it when I return.

My mother rocked me in the same chair when I was a child.
She would not abandon me for noise. She would not leave me. Peonies shrivelled
on the dining room table. Still a child myself.

There is a melody in the night. I remember the tune.

I used to bathe until I had burnt the feelings out of me.
Hot springs do nothing when you've carried an empty sack. The clock is sin
it joins the choir, noise to drown the thoughts instead of hot water.

There are no stars tonight. The sky is myopic with thought.

The kitchen is a death-scene. I still bleed out every time I sleep.
My mother’s ghost haunts the walls, relapse smells like dying flowers.
A woman’s madness is her wandering womb.

The night’s song is a sad song. I hear it when I close my eyes.