I know you like to compare me to the Egyptian Goddess Isis
but I don’t really think that’s fair.
To her, not me.
For one thing:
Sometimes when I stub my toe against the china cabinet
as I’m going to refill my glass of wine,
I loudly exclaim
Fuck Shit Ass Damn
and call my wine bottle a son of a bitch.
I don’t think Isis would do that.
When my street dog tears up a book I just bought,
Especially The Children of Green Knowe,
I tell him I fucking hate him
and I wish I’d never brought him home.
Of course, I love him
but he drives me batshit insane most of the time.
I doubt ol’ Isis would hate anything
And check this:
Just the other day, one of my employees
sensing my utter desperation,
rolled a fat ass joint for me and left it in the door of her car, the lighter on the seat.
“Go take you a couple hits, you’ll feel better.”
So I did.
And I don’t even smoke, really.
But sometimes life is a heartless little bitch
and you can’t escape it any other way
than to go sit in the parking lot, in a tinted car,
on the corner of Highway 80 and nowhere,
and cry your goddamn eyes out while you inhale a blunt so strong that you cough and sputter
because you haven’t hit that shit since college,
and college was 80 years ago on another planet.
Do you think Isis would do some shit like that?
My kid knows every cuss word and in different languages
AND I ALLOW HIM TO USE THEM SOMETIMES.
Isis would die.
I curse under my breath at old people, babies, and animals
even though I love all three.
I take the lord’s name in vain on a daily basis, sometimes for the entire goddamn day.
I am wildly unhinged and prone to sadness and would rather watch the flowers wilt
under the weight of your absence,
than to see them thrive in a garden where you are not their gardener.
Isis would never stand for it.
You once told me you could read between the lines
but I’m not giving you enough space to do that.
I’m dirty, broken, worn out, tired.
I’m offensive, lewd, crass.
I’m a mediocre mom with no goddamn blueprint.
I’m a half-assed daughter who doesn’t do enough.
I’m just ok at being the boss.
I’m nobody’s someone.
But I have this heart and for some reason it’s huge and cavernous
and there’s all kinds of back alleys in it where I keep people and animals.
One of those alleys is named after you.
It’s littered with all the debris you left behind and I don’t bother cleaning it up.
I just wallow in it until your scent is all over me.
And I’m not ever coming out of that alley.
If I may speak on behalf of Isis:
Please don’t compare her to a derelict like me.