Auntie

I look at the doorway in which the only light in the apartment pierces the abyssal hallway.

I look at the tattered shower curtain that lay on the white tile.

I look at the pristine brown counters that reflected the light in the room back into my eyes and blinded me from what I was about to see.

I look at the clear bottle laying shattered on the floor, its neck still a vibrant red.

I look at the ashen body strewn across that beautiful white tile.

I look at her black eye makeup, now dried vines trailing down her face.

I look at her short brown disheveled hair that pointed toward the shattered bottle, helping me understand.

I look at her body again.

There were no mechanisms left, she lay in lumps on the floor.

 

“Auntie, you don’t have clothes on. Let me get you a blanket.”

 

I looked inside my mind to find grey clouds enveloping my brain.

I walk through it, lost, screaming her name with no answer.

 

I lay the soft purple blanket over her supple body.

I tap the three menacing red buttons and doing so sends a blizzard of dread throughout my body.

 

“9-1-1. What’s your emergency!”

 

My mind is as clear as the bottle shards scattered across the white tile.

My heart breaks and you could hear it snap as loudly as you could hear my tears hit the floor.

 

“Um, my aunt is dead. I think - I think she - I think she drank a little too much this time.”

 

This poem is about: 
My family
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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