Medicine Cabinet

I made friends with the medicine cabinet.
I asked him to take me away,
from the house that built me,
and I asked it why the house went deaf,
every time I went to the door,
to tell it my troubles.
He told me she had dreams for me,
stuffed in her ear, like wax ,
and I couldn’t push the truth in if I tried.
So I just lay,
on the kitchen floor,
watching the waves of the washing machine,
the way I used to when I was a child,
and he placed a pill,
one for each year,
we’d been friends,
on my tongue,
until it was full,
and he took me away,
from the house that built me,
and it fell to the ground.


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