When you can’t wipe your own ass

When I wanted yogurt
I got black out,
got my body is doing a thing it’s never done
so stubborn mind finally takes a back seat

thank god for that

that there’s a back seat available for stubborn mind
and it knows how to find it
just in time.

I came to in the hallway
held by parents who are not my own
see I’m here to take care of their child
who is my little-bigger-than-me sister
but I am barely lucid and need to shit.

What a miraculous thing
this body
and lucidity brought on by the most
eh
instinctual sensations
you cannot run from a shit even in the most
unfortunate of circumstances.

I am bent over on the toilet
she is holding my sweaty head.
I think we made it just in time
or she did
not sure if I’m a part of the team
or a hockey puck on ice being transferred
to the best players
either way,
I can’t wipe my own ass.

When you’re 29
keeled over a toilet
and someone else’s mother wipes your ass
you will be humbled
pain
is an uninvited guest to your house
if it shows up screaming
you become silent
care little of what you know to be proper manners
if you cannot move
you cannot move
so someone else has to.

When my clean asshole and I make it to the bed
my uninvited guest screams louder
and like

damn,
I heard you the first time

and there’s nothing for me to do
it feels like an internal exorcism
all I know is
hot, hot, hot
and I am brought to my grandmother’s deathbed
as I watch her rip her clothes off in discomfort
I see myself trying to rip my clothes off in discomfort
with dry eyes
sometimes there is so much pain
you can’t even bring yourself to cry
all you say is
fuck, fuck, fuck

as your hands reach for anything that will not show.

I realize that help never shows up in the moment you need it most.
Flashing lights are slow in this timeline of pain.

Heat quickly turns to cold and I am silent
but shaking
and the men never understand
they think it panic
and I wish they knew what it felt like
and the pain you must be in
to shit in front of someone and have them wipe your ass.

And to return home
after hours wasted in the hospital
and realize
you’ve been laying in pissed pants.

And they hope you had a good time in Philly
and you’re trying
but sometimes your body shuts down in the kitchen
when you want yogurt and coffee
and shuts down the next day
when you are to drive her to the train station

how wonderful it would be to see the train station

yet here you are in
in bed
bleeding
and sleeping through hammers and saws.

sometimes this is life you think
maybe there are lessons somewhere
probably in the bathroom
I will find gratitude
next time I shit on my own
and wipe my own ass
I will count those things as blessings
and as a good story to tell
but probably not at the dinner table

but knowing me
at the dinner table
if the moment calls for it.

I guess there’s never really a good time for shit stories
it’s always TMI
but like,
so was that,
so you’re welcome.