I’ve learned too many pretty ways to talk about alcohol
and not enough for water. I’m not saying it made my problems
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
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.
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