denial

artificial cherry tastes like my dad’s second house
not his first or childhood home
his second house: the cookie cutter one
with the two dead dogs in the too small backyard
and my other mother at the table, buttons and bullets scattered beside her

green apple I would understand
all the HiChews I’d sneak in before dinner
the only flavor they had in stock at the arcade
the fake-tasting snow cones we’d get before bed
my other mother’s generic shampoo and conditioner

choking on the chemicals, spit is everywhere
soaking my sheets with more than just tears
every night after her shower she’d come in and lock my door
she’d be mean to my stuffed animals and yell at the poor cat
she’d steal my LipSmacker chapstick and make me wish I was dead

artificial cherry tastes like my dad’s second house
the one that should taste of green apple and fear
with the two dead dogs in the too small backyard
and my other mother in the bathroom, washing my blood off her hands
artificial cherry tastes like my dad’s second house

and I don’t understand why