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NaPoWriPo 17

My apologies in advance for another intense poem. I’ll try to lighten things up tomorrow.


The tinkle of ice in a glass might sound like I’m recreating the scene
except I know in the end she stopped bothering with niceties like ice and glasses.
In the end, the only thing that mattered was the fastest escape route.

Did she stay up as late and as guiltily as I do?
Did she use the same excuses the next day?
Am I her, somehow? Do I inflict the same damage,
the damage her son never admitted to sustaining?
Are we similarly unreliable or did she hold it together better than I can?

Yes and no.

Exhibit A: another son, the one with fetal alcohol syndrome.
Exhibit B: the bottomless pit of need, of never-enough, in all her children.
Exhibit C, D, E: the broken hip, the DTs in the hospital,
her husband’s denial that she ever drank.

And yet here I am with ice in a glass pouring my amber escape.




4 responses to “NaPoWriPo 17”

  1. I quite like the intensity (though the scenes your represent sound difficult–if they are at all autobiographical); your storytelling through poetry is very effective.

    1. Thank you re: effectiveness. It’s hard to know if I’m just being self-indulgent or navel gazing, you know? And it is autobiographical – write what you know, right? And it’s also a good way to let some things go (or at least until the next time they come up).

  2. PaperPuff Avatar

    No need to apologise. They are good. Tough, sometimes desperately so, but good, still.

    1. Thank you! I don’t want to drag anyone down (or, worse, alarm anyone) so that’s part of the reason for the apology, too. I’ll lighten it up some tomorrow … probably.

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