I spent
my childhood
rotting
alongside windex
and pancake syrup
in a cabinet beneath the sink.
I survived
on expired cough medicine
and uncut fructose
as dish-water
and poison paint chips
rained from the silver black sky.
I left
the cabinet beneath the sink
with pale, twisted limbs
and eyes sensitive
to the light.
I stumbled
into the world.
Discovered scotch and gravy
and women who love chocolate.
I stagger
to the kitchen with tumblers of melted ice
and a plate of half-eaten poutine,
annoyed with wasted potatoes
but charmed by the scarlet stain
on the rim of her glass.
I drop
piles of life into the sink
and run the tap,
full of shame and too afraid
to face what sits beneath.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem