a very bad christmas

when your whole family

thinks you're a fraud

and it's christmas eve

and you're driving home

in the pouring rain

after being yelled at

by your eldest son

for always being sick--

"not her fault," says your husband

"whose it then, god's?"--

after you've passed the day

in the endodentist's office

having a root canal on your

second front tooth after two

days of nerve pain from hell

and all you want to do

is come give your grandson

his christmas presents and

see and share his christmas joy

show each of them your love

but it's not good enough...

when you've driven for

four hours to see your mother

in spite of nausea and exhaustion

and all she does is taunt you

for being lazy and stupid

because you don't get, never have

that she's weak and half-blind

a recognition missing from your

relationship all these years

she's a bitch and she knows it

why not take her advice and

go away and leave her alone!

whatever you do won't be

enough, for example

the "new yorker box"

you made by hand is

clearly shelved, as she sits

on her porch with a cigarette

and her third vodka and tonic

and you're hurt but silent

as you shut the apartment door
start the car and drive 
the four hours home.

you ask your husband

to call your youngest son

because he won't take your calls

rejects your emails

tells you you were the

worst mother on earth and

writes on his blog that his

father, dead one year, is his

hero, the father whose abuse

drove you to your first

nervous breakdown, threatened

your life and beat the love right

out of you, and now at christmas

you who always use your

illness as a crutch, after you

spent hours on the phone

helping him through anxiety

attacks and bad breakups

and you know now that it will

never be enough, not after

you asked that same father to

shelter him and he told your

boy terrible lies about you

and now at 25, he won't talk

to you and all you do is worry

because the motto on his

myspace page is: i think i'm

dying, really...

and you sit next to your husband

bumping along at 55mph

sick as a dog on christmas eve
blinking in and out of consciousness

and you wonder how to go on

when the people you love the most

don't believe you're sick, only

believe you're crazy

and it's all about them

and how your unreliability affects

their plans, your mother is yelling

just don't come! if it means

she'll have to wait another day

even if you stay a day extra

or your son is yelling, just don't

come! if it means that you won't 

be able to spend the night on

his couch, even if you love him enough

to come after a root canal

to spend time with your grandson

oh how he loves you and grandpa

he called a week before just

to make sure you got there,
and you promised.

what have you done wrong to be

so utterly dissed by your family?

and if your family can't understand

what about the rest of the world

that doesn't have any attachment

to the wretched and disabled?

your husband grabs your hand and

squeezes it. you don't need words

as you ride the mountains

toward the coast, your sadness

and anger palpable as sandpaper.