‘Mother’ of the Year

I don’t want to remember.

I tried to let it all go long ago, but you just won’t let me forget.

My memories of you soured since I was as tall as some of my favorite plants.

My father and my grandmother are the only good memories I have left.

All I have of you is pure bitterness.

It fell from your lips to the can in your hands,

“Don’t you want a sip? Maybe she’ll shut up this time.”

You think we don’t remember, but you won’t let us forget.

Why do you think we hate you and all of your sins?

Ashes fall from a fresh cigarette.

The can slams down, and the mask then falls.

My God, who do you think you are?

Whenever someone defends you, I cringe.

Your every behavior is completely unhinged.

You disgust me in every way.

You’re not my mother.

My mother died six years ago in a hospital bed.