Pills

by Mary Coleman

these pills

stuffed toilet paper

down my tear ducts

and gradually flattened my brain

with a ground compactor

until it spread across the floor

in a thin pink layer

but these pills

could not reach my heart

where poetry

has taken up residence

settling in

wearing a pair of flannel pajamas

and drinking cocoa

in the aorta

scribbling

in arterial blood

the history of my soul