The Inventory

I was looking for a single white pill

to quiet the throb behind my left eye,

but the door swung open and showed me

every version of myself that didn't feel right.

I knocked over a bottle of cherry syrup

from the winter I couldn't stop shaking.

It’s crusted shut now, a sticky, dark ring

holding the glass shelf like a stubborn stain.

There’s a stack of expired sunscreens,

a single, loose Band-Aid curling at the edges,

and the reflection of my own face

framed by the things I bought to survive a Tuesday.