Twenty thousand bees pursue
their queen trapped inside.
For one dollar at a yard sale:
a shoebox diorama of the moon
where the astronauts are built from foil.
My mother empties half of her sleeping pills
into Tupperware, slides them to me
from across the table.
I should be done now, done with it,
the life I wanted before I wanted
Olivia refuses to live in a yellow house,
says she’s saving the color
for her forever home.
Blood circles the drain.
I search my body for the source
but can’t find it.