My Mother’s Nightstand

by Alivia Begin


she leaves the things that
mend her –
peach apricot tea bags lie unopened
beneath useless research articles,
a stiff tissue box,
and a bottle of Dramamine.
her rain-misted eyes sink farther back
as her vision stirs
and she sways within the weighted air.

she forgets the things that
remind her –the white house paint
on the wrap of his watch –
the face cracked, but its hands
still moving,stepping on seconds
she hopes are worth
holding out for.

she ignores the things that
miss her –
her waterlogged notepads,
outdoor rocking chairs
beginning to mold,
her mother’s kitchen counter
apologies,
rushed and smudged
on the backs of
two-week-old
shopping lists.

she keeps the things that
break her –the death soaked dimes and
bicycle pavement scars,
her father’s picture taped
to the underside of the drawer-
she looks at it and
notices how her hands
have started to shake differently
from his.

Author Bio: Alivia Begin is a junior at East Granby High School and the Greater Hartford Academy of the Arts. Recently affected by the loss of three loved ones by suicide, Alivia has dedicated much of her efforts toward the path through grief and discovering herself and her voice within her writing.