Then, Miss Tracy overdosed, 

                                                                     or just died & I saw her faded red cap everywhere.

Her brag about grown children 

                                                                                  who never called grew charming in memory. 

Did drugs make her a better parent, 

                                                                                                          or just help her believe it? I used

to try to picture her at my age, 

                                                                             and wonder if I’d make it to hers. But it’s about

choices, right—& the right to make bad ones. 

                                                                                                                    Drugs didn’t destroy her life,

if anything, they brought it a little color during the faded years.

I couldn’t repair her                         nor could crack                                      cause maybe she

wasn’t broken                             the fissures formed                       & no pieces fit anymore

I don’t believe                                      it was the drugs                                not entirely anyway

band-aid’s on                                bulletholes maybe                        but aren’t we all missing

something                                                   lost along                                      the way somewhere

I can’t repair                                      her so I sprinkle                                               her in the gold