My mother cradles her wine glass
between spread fingers
like a mother cradling an infant
How she use to cradle me, I presume
Close to her heart within cold, stiff hands
Stumbling silently between
her hand and her head
as she lifts the grape poison
to her lips and sips another drink
Delusion in her crooked eyes
she thinks is left secret
yet so easily distinguishable
Sips slowly the impulse of heartache

And my soul crumbles
in secrecy as well

She stumbles into rehab
Back out again with pride
Yet smiles so fragilely placed
with fears of deceiving hearts
Devastation of relapse
that seems not far behind

I look inside myself
and see the pain of dismay
Infestation of body and mind
and wonder cautiously
Do I see her inside myself as well?
Wanting all that is good and stable
for family and kin

“I will never be like her”

Though my words strong
Heartfelt and deliberate
I wonder what turns my mind might take
when I sip on that bottle as well
That poisonous gene
they call the dieses
Festering inside of me?