If it’s really that bad go to the ER

I can’t see out the sides of my eyes 

but my optometrist says my eyes are fine

i paid $90 out of pocket for eye scans

so i cried in his face —why do the tests say my eyes are fine?

the flowers in the garden box are weeds

i meant to say this but i was so caught up 

remembering the name 

Lamium purpureum

(Google search— Signs of  ADHD in adults>dyspraxia

>brain trauma? lack of peripheral sight)

something so purple must be bad for dream tomatoes

so then i’m stuck botanical planning MRI planning

i say nothing out loud, but price check butter lettuce 

brain scans and serranos everyone knows 

transplants are easier than working all the way up from seed

before we can plant our garden someone has to go & dig out dry dirt

and kill those purpureum weeds

i know i've killed everything i ever touched

but this time i swear it won't be me

—before i can dry the basil i have to plant the basil

before i plant the basil i have to tackle dishes

before the dishes i have to fix the flooding under the sink

before the flooding i have to go to work on the way to work i can’t see the road

i think it’d be easier to kill myself than the purpureum

i tell this to my therapist and he says it’s just four more weeks

but that’s not true: it’s two more years

     or it’s been since the ligament damage

     or it’s been since that man 

     held me down on my bed

     and my sister helped me throw out 

     my whole mattress and try again

Featured in Volume XVIII of The White Squirrel Literary and Arts Magazine and awarded the Golden Acorn Editor’s Choice in Poetry

Honorable Mention for Sarabande Book’s annual Flo Gault Student Poetry Prize