Adage It has been said, we know as we grow old as a day mundane looks to be a life laid down in decades I say where is the equal sign the grand total of what I have done what is left to consider consider this: nothing and that’s fine I thought nights of pain would never see the ease the cutting cry of a baby unable to stand it any longer the rocking back and forth the praying hours spent trading my time for his or hers the awful wonder that time brings standing beneath these leaflets of shame and guilt for what and yet I wish for more time to ache with you in my arms more prayers to send on your behalf love for the days I had anger in my words I wish for more to give you more to leave when I leave, let this be known ♨ Held Captive I write this sober. I love him: know that. Know this: I don’t know what to do. I bought gray sheets to match his mood and hide his neglect – white towels to encourage that daily baptism by hot water and a blue scrunchie. I keep Clorox on hand, soak in it some days – like today. One of us is of sound mind and body – One of us is desperate to find out what normal is – One of us is a shell of himself, the other: a shell. ♨ Quality Control Yesterday I went to Publix on 301, the new one in need of new entry tiles: the girl bagged my groceries perfectly: chicken with the shrimp, romaine with the bananas still green like I like them, the hotdogs with the genoa salami—the kind he likes. This morning two hotdog buns were missing. He must have eaten after ten. He does that, you know. Must feel like he must eat when I am asleep, prevents me from seeing he is human, that he delights in formed angus beef not knowing I bought them for him. Not knowing I live to see him delight in hotdogs, to see him normal. Stupid word: normal. Stupid until you beg for it—whatever it is I just know it’s not here.
—Submitted on 01/20/2023
A.J. Forrester is the author of Resurrection (Word Poetry, 2021). Her poems have appeared in SWWIM, Trailer Park Quarterly, and Azahares, among other journals. She lives in Dade City, where she teaches poetry and volunteers for the Florida Literary Arts Coalition.
Editor’s Note: The series title Flush Left refers to the fact that, due to our limited WordPress skills, we are only considering poems that are flush left. Poems already in our Submittable queue that have simple non-flush-left formatting may be considered for publication. Click here to submit work to Flush Left.
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