Poets logo

A Time for Toilet Paper

Poem of Witness

By Jessica FialloPublished 6 years ago 2 min read
Like

March 2010 2-ply high-end toilet paper—my favorite kind. Mom doesn’t mind me using only what I need, unless of course, I make them into giant soggy spitballs and hurl them towards the ceiling.

May 2010 I tried using the good stuff, but the roll’s been empty for weeks. I’ve noticed that dinner shrinks. Mom says we’re on a “cleanse,” but Vienna sausages and leftover rice, is definitely not Whole Foods.

This morning I came in and found old rags folded on the towel rack. Mom says she’s inspired. TLC’s teaching that saving the planet means wiping with rags and washing them once a week. She’s insane. I’m not going to wipe myself with old pajamas.

July 2010 Mom slipped in the laundry and all the soiled rags fell on top of her. She wouldn’t look at me; instead, she flung the rags back into her basket and told me that I’d cry too if I were shat on.

Mom sits on the overturned laundry basket staring at the bonfire as she roasts a block of spam over the flames. She offers me a piece but the smell makes me gag. That’s the last time we ever used rags.

August 2010 A big storm hit. It’s been three weeks—we’re the only house without water or power. Mom says corporations only care about the better side of town, so we use candles. Mom keeps forgetting to buy batteries for our flashlights. No more 2-ply, no more rags. Just Kleenex.

September 2010 Mom came in with a stack of newspapers and a box of Chinese take-out. We haven’t eaten take-out in months. We sat together on the living room floor. Mom’s smile was forced. I took a bite out of the sweet and sour chicken. She opened up a can of Coke that we shared between each other. She sighed. “We have to move,” she told me. She took a piece of chicken and stuffed it in her mouth. Now I understood what the newspaper was for.

My bottom is a permanent black, newspaper will do that. It stains the inside of my underwear and my jeans. Sitting in our car, I asked her if we would have toilet paper at the new place—she stared at me and shrugged.

Sure.

social commentary
Like

About the Creator

Reader insights

Be the first to share your insights about this piece.

How does it work?

Add your insights

Comments

There are no comments for this story

Be the first to respond and start the conversation.

Sign in to comment

    Find us on social media

    Miscellaneous links

    • Explore
    • Contact
    • Privacy Policy
    • Terms of Use
    • Support

    © 2024 Creatd, Inc. All Rights Reserved.