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Family tree

There goes the Catholic woman
leaving plates out for her cats to store
their caught flies after summer
windows are shut for good.
Now night cargo pant militants
cannot steal her brand-spanking new
twilight guitar, or mother may i journal entries
and all of those dark, dark recollections
of eating Jesus in the past.
There she lies like a centerfold
and her soul like blood on the bathroom sink
after meth, after needles, after night's
drug twosome. "Just me and the guys."
It's 4 AM and her legs are just swaying
up and down, vodka yawns
and death leaves her in a precarious position.
Her hair is crunchy; it's all of this Catholic
she never was.
She channels old relatives and memories
aren't her own. Claw biting
came from somewhere. After drinking
the paranoia comes from someone,
the voices aren't her own.
Rosemary sent her here
and so did Mary Todd. She swipes,
swipes, swipes her gash and drinks
until all the eyes aren't looking anymore.
Her centerfold is her own and there lies
that Hope diamond with the ocean,
indigo, a sapphire lounge of hope
and all the circumstance that took hope away
one rainy day.