Crystal's Mom Never Left her Bedroom

A Poem by A. Doyle

Crazy yellow hair, red sweatshirt
She never left her bedroom
Eight years old, alone in a home
With a boy, only six, a brother
Cereal for dinner, maybe soup, maybe eggs
Crystal could cook
I don’t think her mom knew

Crazy yellow hair, red sweatshirt
She emerged one day from her bedroom
She must have heard
The TV in the living room
Music buzzed from the speaker’s dusty holes
The door began to open
I was sure she would yell
Crystal thought so too

Her voice opened like the pit
Of a warm wet cave
The belly of a bear
Deep and dirty, growling
I love this song, she said
And she began to dance

She smiled, silver shining
From the back of her mouth
The only sparkle I ever saw
She twisted her weight
From side to side, closing her eyes
Crazy yellow hair swaying
The stench of cigarette smoke swirling
Dancing by her side

She laughed, high and long
Her voice cracking and then finding
Its path back up from her throat
Exploding on our dumbfounded faces
We laughed too, a scared laugh
A surprised and confused laugh

In the blink of an eye
The moment was gone
Red sweatshirt and stone washed jeans
Disappearing behind the cracked paint door
Of a room I’d never seen

In the kitchen Crystal poured milk
Over our lucky charms
Your mom is cool, I said
But she didn’t respond
She just went to get the spoons

© 2013 A. Doyle

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Reviews

Angi

Ok, three for three, girl. You have described the face of addiction or depression or both. It doesn't have to be the yellow hair and the red sweatshirt. It could be any house, USA. That mom is not just some woman hiding in the back room. She is someone, she was someone. She is fighting and/or hiding from demons. The cycle goes on and on because (although she may know) that she is hurting her kids, she just doesn't have the strength to fight them. The little snippet of a pulse when she danced had me gasping. This hits so close to home. Angi~