by Debbie Feit
The empty spaces are so crowded they push you into the corner, take your lunch money and
move on. You have to squint to see the whispers and even with your new prescription you can’t
hear them. In the quiet, your boy’s mind riots, between self-sufficiency and knowing there’s still
help he needs. You hold tight your lips as you formulate a script. What is the circumference of
quiet? How many cubic feet does hesitation hold? Line ‘em up, knock ‘em down, the
reverberations ring the crown. It’s pause and effect until you greet flaws; then he deflects. How
many sighs per minute can you type? Follow the outline or you won’t get full credit. He wears
his agitation like yet another temporary tattoo, brilliantly bold, but fleeting, and when it wears
off, it squats in your amygdala, repaints the walls, changes the locks. Yells at you to buy Lucky
Charms instead of corn flakes, to wash his Pokémon hoodie in time for spirit day at school, and
to inform you he’s not doing the fractions worksheet due tomorrow. You’re walking a fine line of
land mines and if they go off, there’s no coming back. So, step empathetically. You’ll expire if
you trip the wire—but you have to find it first.
Debbie Feit is an accidental mental health advocate, unrelenting Jewish mother and author of The Parent’s Guide to Speech and Language Problems, in addition to texts to her kids that go unanswered. Her work has appeared in Abandon Journal, HAD, Harbor Review, and on her mother’s bulletin board. Her chapbook, The Power of the Plastic Fork: A Daughter’s Highly Unorthodox Kaddish, was a finalist in Frontier Poetry’s 2024 Debut Chapbook Prize, and was longlisted by Harbor Editions. Read about her husband’s inability to see crumbs on the kitchen counter on Instagram @debbiefeit or at debbiefeit.com.
