Then She Dropped a House on Me

The pool party on Mother’s Day,

making a disrespected spectacle of me

because she wanted to attend,

got my daughter and me there

without disclosing the rest

of the list of guests.

If I had known, I would

have stayed home.

I didn’t see it then.

Now? Crystal clarity.

In the interim, an exodus,

Crisis: existential,

run away to me, two

hundred miles away.

I said okay.

Two moving trucks.

Everything thrown in,

unloaded into my house.

Boxes, floor to ceiling,

wall to wall in my

living room. A visit

to her storage room—

it landed on me

like a house, this

rented space

set up like a

living room

while she lived

with me for free.

Wicked witch I may be,

but it’s gonna take a lot

more than a movie plot

to exterminate me.