The Consuming and Raging War of The Poetics

Part XII

after admitting to myself
that if I didn’t let go of the alcohol,
it would swallow me,
as it had swallowed him,
as I swallowed it…
I prayed upon a wood,
an August sky uncharacteristically cool and stormy,
I prayed that God have mercy on my drunk soul,
I prayed that He give me strength to love my husband,
soberly and with strength.

I approached the patio doors,
the clock reflected 9:20 at night,
my husband was passed out on the floor,
he must have tripped over the laundry basket –
there he slept,
tangled in clean clothes and a white plastic basket;
I didn’t try to rouse the bear,
I stumbled to bed – dizzy and alone.

– Michellia D. Wilson 8/23/14 7:00 PM


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