In Grief
flame tongue

Rainbow pills rattle in a cup.
She stares glassy-eyed
at the spiral effect. Vodka
bottle lies empty on its side,
a damp glass on the end table.
A ruby visor turns in her hands.
He comes in without knocking,
his flannel shirt and jeans
odd in her doorway. She wonders
idly how painful it is when
he pops his claws. He crouches
before her, traps a red tendril
between two fingers, places
it behind her ear. She's having
problems focusing on his face.
Blurry, slow to her swimming
eyes. He picks her up,
carries her to her marriage bed,
pulls the comforter over her.
The other comes in, white eyes,
white hair, "ro," she's groggy,
can't focus. Feels chocolate
arms holding her. "How do
you see without pupils?" she
asks, her voice slurring.
Ororo doesn't answer. She
hears this terrible banging
then blacks out. When she
wakes up the suns out,
her head feels like cement.
She stumbles to the bathroom
for an aspirin but the
cabinets are empty. A note
taped to the mirror reads
booze and pills don't mix.
She smashes the glass,
her tears mingling with
the shards in the sink.

Jean Grey. Dead. Painkillers.