mother coming



all the way from arizona because i 		called 

	-7 am half hysterical- 		& begged.

no sleep.	again.



depleted/bedraggled (bothered bewildered?)  i am	hurriedly cleaning 	so she won’t

	or 	will at least have less		when she inevitably does.	i 

lifted the couch’s cover		for possibly the first time	to find

	purple mandy sweater fuzz	  with boris-hair adhered.



too tired to mop	she’ll undoubtedly 	take a look at the bathroom floor

	ask about the stained spots			i will shrug nonchalantly:

“eyeliner shavings.			they never hit the mark.”



laundry, bedsheets, dusting and vacuuming		 in less than 90 minutes

	somewhat haphazard			    blame the 	insamnity:

*should i dust the vacuum?*



at the airport		she will ask how 	i am doing		and 

i will try to smile (fail) 	tell her how i contemplated	going to the store

for ipecac because	for the first time ever		drinking an 

expectorant and vomiting sounded like

	a good			healthy thing to do after:



two weeks		of not sleeping unassisted

	last three days on ambien (baneful 	      nauseating drug)		

pill-dazed, queasy, aching				feeling moronic for failing		

			at something so simple.



almost time to put		wash in dryer		i stop to breath a moment

	grateful	for the comfort 	no one else could give		but knowing 

if i		don’t dust the vacuum		

she’s bound to notice.