Woke up

head heavy and pounding

as if I’d drunk something stronger than seven glasses of ice water

during a heat wave

disoriented and guilty about

sins I committed in my sleep–

stealing the keys to their boat

(and then stealing the boat)

facing the reproachful glare of the father whose children I babysat in 1993

scrambling through snowy woods using dark magic to turn small Ferraris into piles of blue and orange wigs, curly

(don’t ask questions)

Stumbled downstairs eager to

eat the saltines left over from the

video game breakfast of two little boys

“You should try them, Mommy, they’re delicious.”

as if they would calm my nerves like they calmed my stomach when I was a kid

© Betsy Rosenblatt Rosso
July 2019

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