Friends of Bill W.

[LeftWriteFemme]

May 21



NaCl


I work arithmetic instead of telling you to stop. I make a light remark, never take a stand until I have worked the numbers and believe that the weight of suffering is on my side. I store in the cellar the salt I found in my wounds and label it with, names, dates and corresponding critique, all waiting, hoping, I will never need to disclose them, but keeping them accounted for just in case things go badly. I believe there is no chance for error with silence and no wrong when I have backup in the basement, but I need to table the salt and risk my reality. You can’t hurt me worse than I do when I pour old salt and create new wounds.




Bang the drum, expect a sound


*

FROZEN STRAWBERRIES

I have them in the freezer, I tell my sponsor
I’m sure you do, when are you going to take them out
And reenact spring, she retorts.

I don’t want to take them out before I’m ready
I don’t want them to go to waste.
Oh the Excuse Maker, the Staller

Are you going to drag all the old chestnuts out of the closet?
I thought you were going to defrost the strawberries.
Fear, you’re saying, Fear of strawberries is not a sign of stability I ask her?

Eat the strawberries or not
But it seems to me you didn’t get sober
To avoid the sweeter things in life

Keeping all your goodness locked up
In the deep freeze
Destined for frost bite.