Doctor tells me to continue the pills
I show her hands full of hair
skin pinched pink as boiled potatoes
tongue spooling out
She says "it's only been two months, give it a chance"

At night birds stand on my eyes
their prickled feet dig in
I dream of my dead, loudly
or wake every hour

I forget the names for things
drum
fountain
ribbon
key
She says "we can't have you crying on the bus"

Poetry hides there
under spoons and plates
the broken skein of thought
and too much food
Hides like a willful child
or a winter dog
and my son says
"I like you better crazy"