I am my mother
fighting the urge to disappear
inside the air, no blacked out windows here
not yet, but the phone's off
computer's dead,draped my towels, my sheets
in tatters over the lights
instead, the situation of the fridge
dire, but the store requires
an exit door to enter
into breaking is a place
for everything a back up space
is twenty paces safe
a needle, thread, & close pin
when a curtain opens
motion over shoulder, staple
each crack, sew, drop, creep
roll, how to stop the universe
from dropping, choking, suffocating
where the home girls hole
crazy marks its' territory, nicotine tinted
lipstick 'round a rim, rust rain, black breeze
what hurls about the trees, what claws inside
her ribs, my wrists
split branch, snap twigs, and scatter
vodka window scenes whisper
drunken hisses, out there swerves
the stranger wears his danger well
of lightning, bolt the door
beware the sun
is pulsing, pending
tilting night
inside the wall, I
fold a kind of magic
in this merging paisley
patterns, box within a box
smudge, a spot of dust to link
the disconnect among her
oxy, closet treasures, picture
martyrs bled between her letters
where the house begins, I
meant to end her
duct taped window warning, Tvs
volume streets to muffle screaming
bees are outraged, birds are fleeing
nature's plotting to get even
what it is when it wants in
the Tv man says give, give, pray
counters crack, but Jesus saves
& liquor's quicker, molds below that
tacky blue linoleum patched this fixer-upper
bills collect, corners threaten, jut
and menace, down a Plexiglas valley
of angles, and walls, shelves of crooked
bound books, newspapers, aluminum cans
stacked back to back, cats feeding on
chameleons, bugs on the floor
in the sinking ceiling, the underbelly
of a bloated sky, precipitation, storm
is the season of the warning
clouds are the color of ash
spackled skin, soldered in
accessorized, a thousand years
I'm thinning in the atmosphere
of minimizing day to day
snaps & slips & cracks
smashed between the paneled glass
the den where heads atrophied on plaques
replaced, I argue in my mother's face
her wheezing in another sphere
seeing sky is only clouding hearing
CNN & Tv Jesus
keep the out from seeping
in & see the milky brew
of galaxies, moon lit through the tips
of cigarettes & white wine
nights, I drink to dream
to know those stars
have soul crumbling inside concrete bone
where jaundiced lights dim bright within
her chest, no way out, but in
& silence what to do with all the rest
where final sounds of drowning breath.

Sandy Olson-Hill identifies as a disabled artist. Awards include: Academy of American Poets Prize, Open Doors Short Fiction Award. Publications; upcoming/ Kaleidescope, RedPaintHill SPECS Journal, BigRiver Poetry Review, WordGathering, Best of Our Stories, BlazeVox, and other noteworthy publications.