Day One

My god, who are you
that science cannot explain?

It must be hereditary—wanting
to become an alcoholic who writes

her way outside her own skin.
I got what I wanted—a place no longer safe

where no one’s sacred,
where only exit signs light up

the night. Fire
water intoxicates

thirsty rail trestles
with five-story flames.

I will not get behind
the wheel. Have wanted to get lost,

wanted to be invisible, to pretend to be
asleep in the middle of a crowded room.

What are they saying about me
now that I’m dead?

Cause of death pending. Cause of birth
doesn’t get recorded.

Tell me, crooked river,
if I can be sober, what then?

2 thoughts on “Day One

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