Mom drops me off at rehab (age 16)

By Anna Williams

She cupped my face in her hands and said

(The room was bare and neutral, setting the stage)

(Her hands smelled like sanitizer and airline peanuts)

I adore you–

and it meant something this time.

She cupped my face and I said nothing–

as if I was imagined, as if I did not exist.

(Ghosts can escape anything,

even a mother’s confession.)

I adore you I heard

in the bare, neutral room

–and in a rare moment, I felt

what she meant was something akin to

what I felt–

I could have said it back.

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Anna Williams (she/they) is a graduate of Lewis & Clark College with a degree in Sociology/Anthropology and a minor in Creative Writing. She currently lives in Burlington, Vermont.