my father's addiction

When I really try to remember
through the haze of high school
and emptiness of puberty
my mind recalls ten things

i. the smell of soft bleach
the sound of mesh wire
broken ink pens created
makeshift pipes

ii. the lies you told
about painkillers
and dismembered fingers
stalled cars and 911 calls
believing you was like
trusting an volcano
not to erupt.
It is only a matter of time.

iii. the ticking clock
and i would wait, wait, wait
for you to come home.

iv. the wailing shriek of my mother's grief.

v. the look of soft pity
my friend's parents gave me
when they knew that you were gone
the heavy hugs I did not return

vi. addiction specialists who warned me
that my mind worked differently
that I could be in love with things
that I had not yet touched

vii. A pair of shoes and a single pillow
resting under a tree in the yard
your footsteps made a trail to front door
that you couldn't open

viii. you became a shell of the man i knew
distracted eyes and shaky hands
your teeth started to rot out of your mouth

ix. when they told me you flat-lined
i thought you had finally died
strung out on the one thing that kept you alive
you told me later you saw bright lights and heard
voices. It was probably just the crack leaving your system.

x. The constant sleep, my dark bedroom
wishing i could wake up one day
and pray to god that it was only a dream.