Anita

A cigarette hangs from my mouth
and a tear rolls down my cheek;
my hand trembles as the
phone slips through my fingers-
I inhale hard until the red tip
reaches its end at the filter-
Everything goes numb
and I collapse to the floor,
to form a fist
to punch anything hard
to split my knuckles in two.
I can still hear the voice
at the end of the line;
it wants to know if I’m there-
I am here.
I don’t want to be
but I’m here.
I just wish my daughter still was.