One side of my face is swollen, chubby,
the child version of myself.
Cotton stuck between slick gum and lip, I drive home and think.
11 months of pain and loss-
one week spent in the hospital
a week after, holding my cat as he passed away
four months later, falling asleep under running IV fluids and surgical suite lights
and then another surgery a month after, drill on bone
in March, holding my aunt's hand as she passed away, sure it was mine that was clammy
visiting her home after she died, finding her note for me
and then another surgery two days ago, needles and burning novocaine and galloping heart
Is there even beauty in this Cranberries song anymore, or am I looking in the mirror again- seeing 11 year old me on purple roller blades in my driveway, Linger on the radio?
My smile is lopsided in the rearview mirror again, and you are still gone.
"I'll be back very soon," you said five months ago.
You lied.


















