Demerol on the Moon

In the car, my mother tells a story.

Once there was a boy with freckles
Everyone made fun of him
Because he was always late getting home
But the reason he was late
Was because he tried to memorize the moon
Lock its movements in his heart forever...

I'm 35 and not a girl but an open wound.
Can't stop thinking about the man emailing me
From six states away
Who pumps me hard for virtual porn
Then goes and fucks his wife.

At the doctor's, he places his hands
On the sides of my face, his slow gentle touch
Violently arousing.

Back in the car, I stare at my mother.
Her perfectly executed makeup, familiar blond
Beehive. The heartbreaking concoction I know
By heart, a mixture of Giorgio and cheap dollar store scent.

As has happened the day before and the day before that,
I wonder which of us will die first,
The strategic placement of bodies in coffins.
Maybe my tit heavy torso
Will have to be secured by weights.

Mama, I hunger to ask her,
What does it feel like to be beautiful.
My fingers itch to caress and hold the soft peach skin
Of her hands.

In the hospital my grandmother's hands
Were gnarled maps of countries I'd never seen.
I begged her to stay with me
But we were too much alike
Nothing would satisfy her
Nothing would have kept her there
Nothing

Days later when Michael Jackson dies
I'll remember the Denny's dealer who worshipped
Demerol, and how numerous years and rehabs
Later I'd wished I'd memorized his number by heart.

But why why why in those white walls
Those crater-less plains of foam rubber
Did the acute sharp longing descend for you
I sobbed like a child
Grandma please
Please don't leave me here alone

Now there's nothing but the glare of sunlight
Cool AC and passing miles.
Mom, I whisper through tear stained vision
Finish the story.

The boy lucked out in the end, she breathes shakily.
He won the girl of his dreams.

How? I ask, closing my eyes.

He was able to give her the moon.
_______
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=N6_1T6_8Z_8