Prose & Poetry

welcome home, starling

you are safe now

water, 160718

water, 160718

I’ve learned too many pretty ways to talk about alcohol
and not enough for water. I’m not saying it made my problems
worse
            She lives in the north and cries in the north.
            sometimes I try to
            sometimes I worry that we’ve
            raised the stakes
            so every version of sad has to be
            shaking
                        It’s possible to text
                        less drastic things.
                        We once spent an hour on AIM
                        about tomatoes. It’s not nice to
                        only remember a friend in crisis.
                        Maybe
                        I should write to her about water
                                    It would sound like ocean without plastic edges.
                                    It would say tears are very clean
                                    and can be kind.
                                    It would fizz against the roof of a mouth and
                                    do what water does—
                                    hydrate and relax.
                        slip and shimmer like condensation and
                        when the water pressure is good, hit with
                                            thousands of tiny massaging thumbs.
            The hot brown and salt of broth.
            Tepid puddles after rain that toads squat in.
            The wet mark of a recent kiss.
            The fluffy salvation of white clouds high in a sky.
is the version with water in place of
vodka and wine. I’m learning to write it
for her and for me
too

 

 

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