WHAT YOU SEE IS NOT WHAT YOU GET What you see: They all wear brand new shoes. (Old shoes shining from the hi-gloss of Vaseline.) What you see: Brand name clothing. (Donated clothing sewn, washed, starched at home.)
WOMAN WITH THE BOTTLE I’m the woman with the bottle, sitting in the street with no place to go.
What you see:
That is what you see, if you even look that closely
Always healthy.
before quickly turning away.
(Chronic asthmatics.) What you see: Well fed.
I was my mother’s baby
He kept my belly filled,
in pretty lace dresses from her sewing machine,
three more hostages into a house
ribboned pigtails and shiny patent leather shoes.
filled with rage and alcohol.
Some say I was Daddy’s little girl,
Uh-oh! BCW is knocking on my door.
but hey, let’s not go there.
He can put it down for appearance’s sake.
(Chicken backs.) What you see: They’re always happy and cordial. (Practiced our behavior before coming out of the house.) What you see:
Me, I’m shaking like a leaf. Brought shame onto my family—
One day at a time, fuck that!
people shaking their heads,
Can’t you see I need a drink?!
babies having babies, they said.
All those kids must not have a TV.
I graduated Junior High, eight months full.
(We had a TV, but were only allowed to watch Sesame Street and Electric Company.) What you see: Their hair is kept so well groomed.
If nothing changes, nothing changes. My son’s mother: happy and young
I know who my true friends are:
making bottles, changing diapers,
José Cuervo, Bud the Wiser, King the Cobra
playing peek-a-boo after school.
and let’s not forget kind old Georgi.
Not everyone thought that was too cool.
(Well conditioned with eggs and mayo on the big check day, straightened with lard.)
Detoxes, rehabs, did them all.
So now you see me on the street, Became my husband’s wife:
the woman with the bottle.
black eyes and bruises overnight.
Dear God, perhaps it’s time to become—
Where are the lucky husband and wife?
Oh that? Just slipped down the stairs.
plain old me.
Dad died.
Yeah, and right into someone’s fist.
Mom lives in the Bronx. She’s still smiling.
Theresa Ilardi
Sindy Scott-Jenkins Situations
10
Situations
11
