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I know
I Know
When I was little, I always asked “Where is my mom?”
Every Saturday and Sunday
“Where is my mom?”
The reply was always the same . . .
“I don’t know.”
Now that I’m older
I do know
I know when the door opens
at 3am
and the house swells with
the smell of alcohol
I know, I always know
I just wanted to be wrong
But dear Mom, I know

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This poem is about growing up with a mother who struggles with alcoholism.