Blessings

She couldn’t count her blessings fast enough to keep them from multiplying. They piled up on her porch in broken heaps and started to rot. Neglected.

Instead, she lined her pockets with complaints, braided horoscopes into her hair where they could grow and tangle with her living-dead mane.

She looked up recipes for disaster that she’d experiment with on Tuesday afternoons, adding a dash of salt, now trying a substitute of banana. When the uranium cakes just wouldn’t rise, she’d smash apart the alarm clock and stir in both hands.

Her bathtub continued to leak. From far away, sirens cradled her nightmares.