(runner up in Hysteria Women’s Writing Competition 2014)
A plastic stick lies in the bin, discarded by the dozen.
Sobriety will be a pleasure when you are ready to request it.
But for now I’m allowed a daily numbness,
while I’m mourning every lack of sickness.
Three laps of a clock, then I can search
for a life
memorised instructions checked one last time.
Self-enforced showers wash away the minutes,
rubbing steamy glass to make view-holes.
I stare through, longing for a sense of blue,
then slow-motion towelling
as monthly windows are closed behind frosted glass.
Holding the cord in the bathroom,
I stare at the mirror to look at how I feel,
before returning to the tea, returning,