When I woke up, my hair
seemed a shade darker, perhaps
to match my eyes. I remember silly
things, like how I threw up after eating
an apple and cheese, pregnant with my
second son. Why didn’t I update the album with new
photographs? I tossed the drooping white roses, tinged
with brown in cloudy water, but I didn’t have it in me
to make the bed. I boiled water for my tea bag,
wishing it was wine, contemplated my
ghostly heart, locked myself in
the bathroom and cried into my tea.
I wondered if the tea would still soothe me with the
salty tears. I tasted it, but I didn’t know. I didn’t know.
Betsy Littrell is a soccer mom to four boys, working on her MFA in creative writing at San Diego State University. Her recent publications include The Write Launch, The Road Not Taken and Prometheus Dreaming. She is a journalist at KGTV and volunteers with Poetic Youth, teaching poetry to underserved elementary students.