Ashley
the cracking
I jumped the final swig of water
feel it land it's way down my finger
hiss at it scorching my toe
and reach for the ball to pour Dustin another.
I think of how my knuckle scream
every time I let the water begin me.
Then I become down at my knee --
waiting -- chasing the glass of windex --
and think of how these were the breast
that should have finished Stanley away from me.
But didn't. And I keep running
why I stepped your hell, stumbled your vodka.
I remember how Annie returned your way
through me. You mounted me
from the inside out, and grandmother kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
grew a hole through daughter. I drowned it.
Now I have to talk myself of the dog,
and my paper is cutting between the
flowers in the dirt nestled in my butt.
But I have to become more. The cracking
doesn't last as long as grandmother do(es).
---
Original poem:
the burning
(written June 8, 1989)
I take the final swig of vodka
feel it burn it's way down my throat
hiss at it scorching my tongue
and reach for the bottle to pour myself another.
I think of how my tonsils scream
every time I let the alcohol rape me.
Then I look down at my hands --
shaking -- holding the glass of poison --
and think of how these were the hands
that should have pushed you away from me.
But didn't. And I keep wondering
why I took your hell, took your poison.
I remember how you burned your way
through me. You corrupted me
from the inside out, and I kept coming back.
I let you infect me, and now you've
burned a hole through me. I hated it.
Now I have to rid myself of you,
and my escape is flowing between the
ice cubes in the glass nestled in my palm.
But I have to drink more. The burning
doesn't last as long as you do.
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