A poem about the results of addiction on family.

Our cleanup chatter covers stench

of hearts who loved, once

but broke

their home right in half. Inside

hardened eggs, congealed noodles –

no dish clean.

Dirty teddy bears in closet.

Sodden clothes.

Hidden spaces hold

emptied drugs

cached

where a fist entered wall.

Glass shards,

meth-stench, sickly sweet

pile of pot ashes.

Light bulbs hollow space spiked

by acetylene torch.

Babe dumped in trash,

diaper unchanged.

Two others demand breakfast.

No police tape, no CPS paperwork.

No handcuffs.

No chained demand of politics

to explain

why you’ve done this

to all who believed

they loved you.

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