I fucked up.
Standing in that pawn shop, hands
shaking as I gave away the gold earrings, I remembered
my daughter’s shrill cry as I pried them from her ears.

I spent that money on a bag of coke.

I was numb.
So high my ears popped, my fingers tingled,
ignoring her desperate hand grabbing for mine,
her mother’s touch.

I loved my daughter. Almost.

I got caught.
Sitting in that courtroom awaiting my fate, I wondered,
would the judge take pity on a hopeless teenager? I crossed
my arms, puncture wounds aching to be fed again.

Five years in prison. My daughter taken away.

I got out.
She went to a new family, one that would love
every black hair swimming on her head, every brown freckle
sprouting on her face. One who would love her in every goddamn way I couldn’t.

I miss her every single day.

I am clean.
Twenty years sober, warm sun on my face, no longer dazed or
tingly. I watch my children in front of me,
their laughter my only drug.

I know now what it means to be a mother.