I reach below the sink, compare
the proofs of the bottles beneath.
Eighty is best and I pour the glass
half full, watching the diet Coke turn gold,
beautiful as amber. I climb the stairs
the way I am use to, as a child tiptoeing
to my bedroom. I do not wake the man
in the master bedroom, his hands gripping
the bruised arms of his woman. I sleep
above the shotgun my mother had hidden
below my mattress and forgotten about long ago.
It waits there. No one suspects the room
with the unicorn wallpaper. I am just visiting
tonight. I have this secret beneath the surface.
I try not to roll over. Something might go off.
Teisha Twomey was raised in New Lebanon, NY. She graduated from MCLA in 2010. She is currently working on her MFA in Poetry at Lesley University in Cambridge, MA.