The only thing my mother and I have ever had in common

She screamed for a pregnancy test
even though her tubes have been tied

since the day we both almost died
within hospital walls the third time

they opened her stomach to bring new
life to the world;

I was drowning.

You look just like a toddler throwing
a tantrum for a new toy in the aisle

of a grocery store. Who knew a pipe
could control so much of your mind.

You saw the glare of light in our
dog's eyes and called her demon.

You threw your hands out like trying
to reach for fictional rope to pull

yourself out of the ditch you dug
your bones into.

I watch you sink into your bed like
an anchor plummeting toward the

bottom of the ocean. The firefighters
who barged into our home told me not

to cry; “Everything will be all right
as I clutched the green and pink

blanket you knit me during the two
months the doctors kept me inside

an incubator with gloves installed
on the side. I wish to hold your body

in both my palms like you did with my
newborn being the day I was rescued

from your womb. I wish my tears were
strong enough to detoxify your crack-

filled body;
but instead I watch you drown.