Grieving This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine.

By
She hasn’t moved all morning
Except to visit the freezer.
She’s sworn off the company of all men
Other than Ben and Jerry
It’s hard to see her like this
I fill her mug with coffee and she asks me
To go get some of his Bailey’s
She’s been dry for four years
But now her thirsty lips betray her
She lets out a twisted laugh and stares at the window.
The phone rings, it’s her.
Her face doesn’t change but her voice drops to a growling whisper
That I heard when I broke the candlesticks Dad gave her for Christmas
My ears shatter when I catch the words my mother is aiming at the phone
The whisper rises and explodes as she slams the phone down on the table
An empty carton of Half-Baked rolls to the floor -
She leaves it there
For years she picked up after him and me and the cats
And now she lets it all hit bottom
I walk in front of her, bend down and pick it up
“Here, you might as well throw this out, too.”
My world collapses under the weight of a golden band
My desperate eyes seek hers but she looks past me
I go in the kitchen and throw her ice-cream container, her wedding ring,
and her life
In the trash.


This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.






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