Two unwashed coffee mugs
with sticky stains from hot tea and honey.
My therapist said it would help.
78 keys on a laptop awash with droplets;
the salty solution I try to distance myself from.
1 open Sprite Zero that went flat two days ago.
I still drink it because I need the flavor without the calories.
1 Bobblehead Sophia from Golden Girls with beady black eyes
reminding me of what I'll be doing all weekend.
By myself.
2 crumpled papers filled with ideas
that I could not make reach my standard of perfection.
2 pairs of fashion glasses
in case I have to leave the house without makeup.
1 candle given to me by someone I used to trust.
But, I can't get rid of the candle
because God forbid I be able to let anything go.
2 rocks from the rehab center
where I met three friends
who have all since died before age 25.
2 red pom-poms a football game
that I was too anxious to attend.
One plaque with a Scripture on it.
One of God's sacred promises
that I only believe one-third of the time.
One bottle cap from a beer I had
when I couldn't eat my calories.
I don't even like beer.
It's like piss in a can.
One notebook of musings from church sermons.
There are a few weeks missing
from the fear of being struck dead
if I stepped foot in a holy place.
One Ziploc baggie that held 2 chocolate chip cookies.
I cried for an hour after I ate them.
One young woman.
Ten shaky typing fingers.
Two swollen eyes.
One meditative coloring book
in hopes that recovery
would not end in my sorrows
but begin at this desk.
