Rock Bottom

They say when you hit rock bottom you’ll know

Last time was in 2014, standing in my good shoes outside the Holiday Inn

With my piano teacher’s voice in my head saying: in there, there is nothing but pain

(I told you how at night my mother prays for the clouds to go into her eyes

So it will be blue skies sailing)

The owner of this house came back last week

She saw the clumps of bamboo growing vigorous and green in the garden, frowned and said they’ve never spread like this—not in twenty years

But this summer has been humid and cruel like no other before

And so we cut the bamboos down to their stumps, sprayed weed killer, and still stubbornly it lived!

So this morning, I was on my knees, picking up rocks from the Zen garden she had built, and below the rocks are roots and below the soil are more rocks, and I keep clawing and reaching

They say when you hit rock bottom you’ll know?

What I’m trying to say when I put these same claws on your heart is:

You don’t love me in any of the shapes I recognize love to be

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