She’d been drinking, doing shots,
wanting oblivion’s faint
to stop the thoughts in her head.
She wasn’t getting mean, or ugly,
or maudlin … sad, perhaps.
Always sad, always mourning
some ridiculous cause.

She’d been drinking, toasting death,
wanting equivalencies weight
to stop browbeating her mind.
She wasn’t falling down, or up,
or to pieces … crazy, perhaps.
Always crazy, always feeling
some ludicrous cause.

She’d been drinking, flaunting life,
wanting nothing from herself;
but to stop obsessing on being alive.
She wasn’t hopelessly weeping, or banal,
or positive … waiting, perhaps.
Always waiting, always exuding
some tremulous cause…

Erin Elizabeth Kelly-Moen
© Copyright 9/15/04