continental breakfast at wilshire & hope

This poem was written by Maryam Gunja in a 12-Month Poetry Collection Generator taught by Angel Nafis.

absolutely yes i do live
to spend my days eating microgreens
out of this doll sized saucer

my hair spooling like it’s
never seen daylight into
breakfast and syrup
why do condiments play out so tragic
in my fantasy hermit life
i have a tendency to overshoot with
flavor, i need a good rinse after

i tried again to eat in the mornings
when i stayed in for thirty days straight
on just the weak suspicion of death
and a cold sore, reminds me i’ve never had a visitor and
no one has remarked on my mesh curtains
so at least I have taste

to my landlord they are just expensive wire and
if i was interested he could pick up “odd jobs” around the place,
i’m not offended and anything is funnier than
an actual landlord and i felt sorry for me too,
i was just a kid

the one time i remember mom called out sick
i stayed with her clammy wrist in my pocket
when her tiny face broke
again into craters and valleys,
impetigo or hives, it wasn’t clear
i poisoned her using a family recipe
with the oils of my good hand
it was me, my fault