Consumption

Cheryl Chudyk

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They say 

new mothers take showers 

and hear phantom baby cries. 

I shower in silence, 

                          without the fan. 

It’s been over 20 years since I first met my husband and

now I hear phantom male panic attacks when I shower. Or I

keep the water temperature so hot that the steam fights

with the cold air outside 

so it looks like 

                        an invisible hand is reaching through the mist 

up and over the door 

hanging over my head 

On Sundays I shave 

the sides of his skull 

and leave the back like a mullet 

hoping to coax out a Mohawk 

one of these weeks 

If we skip a Sunday 

I’m always alarmed 

at the number of new grey hairs 

and how they evade the blades. 

We’ve reached that point 

in life 

where 

               everyone is dying or getting divorced 

                            liver cancer, brain cancer, renal failure 

where our friends in Norway and Vancouver have children

children (not teenagers) who are practicing self-harm 

I can’t broach 

the topic in my house 

but because of this, I sense it in everyone around me.

I sense it I in my 4am stocker 

                                    (not-stalker) 

                 who looks like he hasn’t slept in 8 months 

                                              (he hasn’t); 

                Nathan 

                                             (“baby Nathan”). 

I sense my friend B in Minneapolis shares this same look.

We traveled through 5 countries this fall 

had an amazing time 

and I now realize the moment— 

that allowed us 

a second (hurried) goodbye 

in Schipol 

                                                                      —that was the end of his joy. 

I see it. 

Like a clinician. 

              Anhedonia. 

              Apathy. 

              Frustration. 

              Fatigue. 

              Misplaced Anger. 

              Guilt. 

                                            I pore through an article on NIMH to see what I’ve missed

                                            This is new to me but rings so true: 

                                            aches or pains, headaches, cramps, or digestive problems

                                           without a clear physical cause that do not ease even with treatment. 

             The list ends with a bullet 

             point for suicidal ideation.

G, whom I’ve known for 15 years 

OG Nathan actually told me so in no uncertain terms. 

Then came S. Then I suspected my own father. 

I didn’t have the bandwidth for that last one. 

These four were in the before-times. 

I scroll through IG. 

I used to tell people that this was different, 

that you could curate 

your own daily art walk 

that it was a place 

safe from a family Facebook fight. 

But now my feed is too everything-everywhere-at-once

dance/thewar/fineart/andcomics 

I’m pulled from a dream of dancing in Korea 

to a poignant political cartoon 

to a dubbed process reel with palettes and paint brushes

to dead bodies in Kherson 

to a cheery painting of another fucking disco ball 

                                         (I thought I already unfollowed you, #sorrynotsorry) 

to some more dour news about gun violence 

and all the collage falls short 

and fails to feel 

innovative or important (perhaps this is why B is walking away from art). 

I’ve thought more about moving 

back to Canada this year than any other year. 

Yesterday I learned that “George Floyd” had become a verb

Today I watched a video of a diapered child 

toddling around an apartment complex 

with a loaded gun, 

followed by strangers’ 

strange thoughts and prayers 

about a Utah man 

who killed his five kids 

                          and estranged wife 

                                                     and mother in law. 

The wife’s family asserted the importance of guns. 

His family called him Christlike.

It’s been a month 

since a dancer I’ve never met 

checked into a hotel 

with a loaded gun. 

I still see 

so many other dancers I’ve never met 

write about him daily. 

In my feed. 

Slow stitches immortalize tweets on keepsake handkerchiefs

and I think about buying another one, 

but now they run five hundred dollars. 

            Gods. Guns. Gas stoves – JJ 

                        Jewish Space Lasers for everyone – MJF 

                                          Like a lot of people today, 

                                                      I had easily gotten sucked into some things 

                                                                  I had seen on the internet – MTG 

I say escapism, addiction, and consumerism are my partner’s problems.

But #thisisamerica 

and I’m done with the American Dream