Modeled after “Success is Counted Sweetest” by Emily Dickinson
Sobriety is counted sweetest
by those who never drink
to never know that poison
would allow you always think
Not one of all the drinkers
would admit that this is true
The devil’s tongue inside the drink
is what gives them joy anew
But if you’ve saved your soul
and avoided all the bars
You’ll have a peaceful life
and not toast your soul to stars
a mental illness
keeps his secret behind doors
his goal: expose her
but she’s not hiding.
this stigma needs to end. Now.
no more closets, please
she needs compassion
a face grinning with the truth
not a pack of lies
you see, she’s unpacked
the weight loss feels amazing
and eye-opening
if he could see it
he wouldn’t stigmatize her
rather, open doors
yet whispers bend us,
the burden of exposure
too oft hard to bear
if his berating
bends her toward the bottle now
he’s unforgiven
no handsome smile
can bend me back to his side
may her freedom sing
you’re coming back now
the truth lies behind bottles
wish i could break them
whispers and gossip
that you aren’t ready to face
the rest of your life
how will you swallow
whatever life’s bitter taste
and carry on, safe?
i would walk with you
but i think of empty rooms
how hollow life is
without a family
don’t know if you’re better off
(but i know they are)
all the same, it kills
i worry you’ll die like him
with bottle in hand
to keep it secret
no one will reach out to help
you burden yourself
we all burden this
this fear of speaking the truth
until lies kill us
let’s not speak of death
of morose new beginnings
i wish i’d brought hope
i would uncork it
let its elixir shape you
towards a drink-free life
social butterfly
three drinks, chips and salsa in
what i wouldn’t give
i missed their parties
guilt sits behind every sip
will they forgive me?
daughter’s frantic call
and knowing that he’d be there
sum up afternoon
endless work awaits
there’s never a break from life
just a different drink
another stressed day
just before Christmas bustle
lost to this sickness
tears fresh this morning
frozen pond glistening dawn
star-studded boathouse
guilt trailing my job
as he rushed home, two sick girls
and me? meetings, plans
she came back today
babyless, unpacking shelves
repacking her life
her despondence stung
i couldn’t leave her alone
burdened with boxes
we made plans, had lunch
I got your card, she told me
we’re not sending any
no family photo
for his first, never Christmas
(this is what i hear)
but she won’t say that,
leaves me lines to read between
your girls’ pic was great
her grief in all words
she tells of Christmas-free plans
prepared to move on
this i carry home
with oldest’s three earned awards
to my handsome chef
his job ends next week
i won’t worry who’ll nurse them
and make chicken soup
noodles fall from spoons
and girls, all better, delight
priceless remedy
now they’ll discuss me
what will he do now, and you?
i’ll have no answer
only the safety
of the home he makes for us
beyond what they see
like a lost puppy
he waits every afternoon
hoping for some help
i enable him
wonder where his friends might be
knowing he has none
everyday struggles
of left-behind countries, wars
haunt my students’ lives
tomorrow, the same
i’ll give him the look; give in
heart too wrenched for no
i’ll carry work home
(not as heavy as his load)
pray peace will find us
timid youngest one
belts out her favorite chorus
shines when she’s on stage
middle girl hidden
by misplaced tall fourth grader
i still hear her sing
it won’t be long now
(and i pinch back dreaded thoughts)
this will be over
my oldest, seated
not with us, but with the friends
she has gained this year
how miraculous
to see her back to herself
facing the world
i faced eleven
in this auditorium
but i didn’t sing
three girls, different tunes
wonder where notes will lead them
back to me, i hope
the aches and fevers
mid-week stay-with-me stresses
medicine won’t work
she came in a dream
all better (never better)
if only the truth
i hate trapped secrets
the solid weight of her truth
worth liquefying
they have stopped asking
bless the sick season for that
(she’ll be sick for life)
losing a baby,
making candy memories,
alcoholism:
all life sentences
that never bring forth the dream
that they’d imagined
Friday afternoon
lights fall to meet autumn nights
but you are not here
knowing, my heart aches
secrecy’s not my style
but brutal truth hurts
i’d take back the words
but they’re lost in confession
forgiven, lost, here
just as you should be
beside me with hugs in hand
building my haiku
instead she shows me
engraved Jack Daniels bottle
twenty-one years out
i tell her i’ll cry
and write her a poem later
about that bottle
never in his mouth
infancy or twenty-one
may he rest in peace
you and i would cry
after she left us drinking
but you’re not here, friend
the way the world works
i won’t have you beside me
twenty-one years out
i learned there’s no guilt
like the guilt of motherhood
my Tuesday lesson
tossing and turning
don’t turn remorse into gold
they make me feel old
whispers in the hall
worse than when i was in school
oh wait–i’m here. school.
we mock others’ pain
forgetting our own swallows
mixed up with sorrows
three deaths, intervention
wrap up semester’s longing
for life, a new life
we all want sunsets
bright red-circle memories
to bring back our youth
then we’d be in school
that captive institution
we couldn’t flee from
my Tuesday lesson:
mouth shut, sunsets disappear
mouth open, truth shines
