that’s turning
churning
burning
with the
fear I’ve known would come
but
now is here.
I run
to the bathroom
find a toilet, quick,
as I
throw up
what’s left of me.
Not much.
114.
I walk back in the meeting room
more prepared
better aware
of what’s going on
now that everything else got
out.
The toilet flushed.
Down the pipes went
my guts.
Royally.
“Sorry,” I mumble.
The room nods their heads
simultaneously.
The symmetry makes me smile.
God, it’s been awhile.
I guess when all is lost
what you gain
is attitude.
“It’s okay, Louisa. We wanted to have a conversation with you today about some things that are going on behind the scenes, that affect you.”
The next sixty minutes pass
in a wash of
Blah.
Blah.
Blah.
Fuck this shit.
Mom is not complying with the plan.
Mom is not taking the mandated classes.
Mom is not stepping up to the plate.
Mom is not coming back for you.
Mom never wanted to.
Mom
Is
Gone.
A hearing is set.
Do you understand that?
“YES.”
I scream at the row of talking heads.
Yes. I understand that.
I can tell Terry is taken aback. You know
by my word.
The voice she heard.
“Do you have any questions, Louisa?” she asks.
Do I have any questions?
What the fuck am I supposed to ask?
You know all that depressed girl
repressed girl
broken and confused girl
thing
I had done for the past sixteen years?
I think that’s over.
Gone.
Just like Mom.
And the person that’s forming
from my empty gut
doesn’t seem as sweet
here let me sweep
under your feet
and wipe your ass
and wash your floors
with my unshed tears.
No, this girl
is fierce.
“I don’t have any questions. Just tell me where to show up to watch this disappearing act say her final good bye.”
Then I walk out the door.
115.
I try to call Benji
again.
For the eighteenth, nineteenth, twentieth time.
I leave the same line
on the machine.
Only it’s getting more desperate
as I realize all I am about to lose
as I realize there isn’t anything
or anyone
left for me to choose
left to fight for.
Left to be strong for.
“Benji, it’s me again. Just wanting to talk. It’s really important. Please call me back. Or write. I need you.”
And I hold the phone in my hand
looking at the calendar
seeing that I have one week
before the Termination of Parental Rights
before the termination of the people for whom I fight
before the termination of what might
have
been.
I throw my phone
against the wall.
And it’s
Breaking.
Just.
Like.
Me.
116.
Ms. Francine has dinner ready
for me when I get home after work.
It’s nearly 7:30 and a school night.
What I want to do is fall into bed,
but I don’t feel like a fight.
So I sit down like a good girl
and put lasagna on my plate.
“Do you want to talk about what happened at your counseling appointment the other day? I feel like you’re trying to keep as far away from me as possible.”
I look at her across the table.
I rip the bread into
tiny pieces
imagining who her new roommate will be.
Probably someone from work.
A respectable adult who has life all figured out
just like her.
“Okay. We don’t need to talk about that right now. That’s what you have Terry for. Is there anything on your mind?”
“Nope.”
“So you’re just demolishing all the food on your plate because you feel calm and collected?”
“Yep.”
“Louisa, please stop being snippy with me.”
“O-kay.”
I exaggerate my syllables in the way
every. single. adult.
I’ve ever known hates.
“You know, I’m trying here,” Ms. F says. “I’m trying to find a way in, but you just keep pushing back. It’s really hard.”
She stands up, puts her dishes in the sink
leaves the room
leaves me
alone
at the
churning
burning
with the
fear I’ve known would come
but
now is here.
I run
to the bathroom
find a toilet, quick,
as I
throw up
what’s left of me.
Not much.
114.
I walk back in the meeting room
more prepared
better aware
of what’s going on
now that everything else got
out.
The toilet flushed.
Down the pipes went
my guts.
Royally.
“Sorry,” I mumble.
The room nods their heads
simultaneously.
The symmetry makes me smile.
God, it’s been awhile.
I guess when all is lost
what you gain
is attitude.
“It’s okay, Louisa. We wanted to have a conversation with you today about some things that are going on behind the scenes, that affect you.”
The next sixty minutes pass
in a wash of
Blah.
Blah.
Blah.
Fuck this shit.
Mom is not complying with the plan.
Mom is not taking the mandated classes.
Mom is not stepping up to the plate.
Mom is not coming back for you.
Mom never wanted to.
Mom
Is
Gone.
A hearing is set.
Do you understand that?
“YES.”
I scream at the row of talking heads.
Yes. I understand that.
I can tell Terry is taken aback. You know
by my word.
The voice she heard.
“Do you have any questions, Louisa?” she asks.
Do I have any questions?
What the fuck am I supposed to ask?
You know all that depressed girl
repressed girl
broken and confused girl
thing
I had done for the past sixteen years?
I think that’s over.
Gone.
Just like Mom.
And the person that’s forming
from my empty gut
doesn’t seem as sweet
here let me sweep
under your feet
and wipe your ass
and wash your floors
with my unshed tears.
No, this girl
is fierce.
“I don’t have any questions. Just tell me where to show up to watch this disappearing act say her final good bye.”
Then I walk out the door.
115.
I try to call Benji
again.
For the eighteenth, nineteenth, twentieth time.
I leave the same line
on the machine.
Only it’s getting more desperate
as I realize all I am about to lose
as I realize there isn’t anything
or anyone
left for me to choose
left to fight for.
Left to be strong for.
“Benji, it’s me again. Just wanting to talk. It’s really important. Please call me back. Or write. I need you.”
And I hold the phone in my hand
looking at the calendar
seeing that I have one week
before the Termination of Parental Rights
before the termination of the people for whom I fight
before the termination of what might
have
been.
I throw my phone
against the wall.
And it’s
Breaking.
Just.
Like.
Me.
116.
Ms. Francine has dinner ready
for me when I get home after work.
It’s nearly 7:30 and a school night.
What I want to do is fall into bed,
but I don’t feel like a fight.
So I sit down like a good girl
and put lasagna on my plate.
“Do you want to talk about what happened at your counseling appointment the other day? I feel like you’re trying to keep as far away from me as possible.”
I look at her across the table.
I rip the bread into
tiny pieces
imagining who her new roommate will be.
Probably someone from work.
A respectable adult who has life all figured out
just like her.
“Okay. We don’t need to talk about that right now. That’s what you have Terry for. Is there anything on your mind?”
“Nope.”
“So you’re just demolishing all the food on your plate because you feel calm and collected?”
“Yep.”
“Louisa, please stop being snippy with me.”
“O-kay.”
I exaggerate my syllables in the way
every. single. adult.
I’ve ever known hates.
“You know, I’m trying here,” Ms. F says. “I’m trying to find a way in, but you just keep pushing back. It’s really hard.”
She stands up, puts her dishes in the sink
leaves the room
leaves me
alone
at the
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