She was always pretty good
at hiding it from us as kids—
the burnt aluminum foil,
the cut-up plastic straw,
the little baggies
of strange powder.
Whenever we found
evidence like that,
it was always just
“a grown-up thing”
or “for her medicine.”
She’d tell us
not to worry about it,
but we did.
Because I think
even at such young ages,
we all knew
what was going on.
And when she’d disappear
for a few days,
we’d ask each other,
“When do you think
Mom is coming back?”
Then she’d finally show up,
and we’d be relieved.
But even when she was home,
safe and sound,
that question still seemed
to echo through our minds.