The Pharmacist Knew My Grandma By Name

I was raised

waiting for the other shoe to

drop

For the landlord to kick us out

My uncle’s schizophrenia told him

we were cursed because we

lived on 13th Street

unlucky because two of the cats were black

Grandpa drank to temper the nightmares of

being a coroner,

dealing with death for a living

Grandma cleaned the house on her

hands and knees

high on diet pills and martyrdom.

Uncle would sneak in to the room

where she, mom and I slept

three in the waterbed, me in the middle

and steal Grandma’s Vicodin

glancing over like a child stealing candy

he poured the white pills

in to his trembling palm

creeping away in the darkness

back to his

smoke-filled room with the

electrical cord maze and tinfoil accents

Clad in robe and agoraphobia,

letting the Xanax speak for her

mom kept court on the bed that

would leak when one of the cats

punctured it with a too-sharp claw

somewhere under her sadness was the smile I needed

My grandmother used too much salt in her cooking

My mother didn’t use enough

if she cooked at all

Now

Thirteen is my lucky number

I always keep a black cat

and I use just right amount of salt.

The Pharmacist Knew My Grandma By Name

I was raised

waiting for the other shoe to

drop

For the landlord to kick us out

My uncle’s schizophrenia told him

we were cursed because we

lived on 13th Street

unlucky because two of the cats were black

Grandpa drank to temper the nightmares of

being a coroner,

dealing with death for a living

Grandma cleaned the house on her

hands and knees

high on diet pills and martyrdom.

Uncle would sneak in to the room

where she, mom and I slept

three in the waterbed, me in the middle

and steal Grandma’s Vicodin

glancing over like a child stealing candy

he poured the white pills

in to his trembling palm

creeping away in the darkness

back to his

smoke-filled room with the

electrical cord maze and tinfoil accents

Clad in robe and agoraphobia,

letting the Xanax speak for her

mom kept court on the bed that

would leak when one of the cats

punctured it with a too-sharp claw

somewhere under her sadness was the smile I needed

My grandmother used too much salt in her cooking

My mother didn’t use enough

(if she cooked at all)

Now

Thirteen is my lucky number

I always keep a black cat

and I use just right amount of salt